Scorlett: The E! True Hollywood Story
by LilianClassic
Summary: A parody based off the God awful mini-series "Scarlett". Please take a peek and tell us what you think ;p
1. Not So Inanimate Inanimate Objects

***AN: ****This is an odd story my best friend and I jointly wrote together, and are still continuing to write. It's based on the outlandish mini-series that is based on the terrible sequel written by Alexandra Ripley. (Of course these are all personal opinions, but I think you get what I mean.) Anyhoo this story is weird, crazy, but in our opinions, hilarious…there are a few inside jokes in here, but it shouldn't take much to laugh at them despite not really getting why they're so funny, at least we hope. Just keep an open mind (the story only gets better in our opinion.) Please when you read this DO NOT think of the original actors (Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable) in the character's places. The characters in this story you are about to read have the appearance of Timothy Dalton and Joanne Whalley from the mini-series made in the 1990's, as I'm sure you will be able to guess from their descriptions. Don't for a second think we're making fun of the original because I love that masterpiece with my whole heart, it's pretty much perfect to me. Now, if you haven't seen this "Scarlett" abomination (which I'm sure most of you have at least peaked at) it is quite different from the dull book it was based off of, and I suggest you watch it just for a good laugh. It's terrible, but just so god damn hilarious that I'm sure all you devoted GWTW fans out there can appreciate the ridiculous amount of effort they put into that dog turd. Anyway if you are a die-hard fan of "Scarlett" I suggest you move along now because I'm not sure you'd appreciate this, but if you want to have a good laugh please take a gander and tell me what you think. This is sort of an experiment for us to see if we're just comic geniuses or just insane, aha, so a review would be much appreciated, you can begin now ;p **

**Scorlett: The E! True Hollywood Story**

**Chapter One: Not So Inanimate Inanimate Objects**

The bell wrung out into the quiet hallways, echoing down them and spilling into the many rooms of the Butthoarder estate. It was midnight and all was quiet…except for one very restless mustache.

Rhett Butthoarder had fallen asleep merely a half hour before midnight, right after he said goodnight to his mother and had his nightcap of scotch and almond nut cookies, but he was already sound asleep and off into a dreamland all his own. Lately he was under much stress, stress that he had never even known he would know. He was now officially separated from his terrible gremlin of a wife Scorlett, and had already found a new plaything, by the name of Anne Hampton. Yes, life was on the rise and many changes had taken place, but all of this stress made one not so inanimate inanimate object very impatient…his mustache.

While his time alone with his mustache made the two literally inseparable, they grew closer and closer. They laughed, they cried, they smoked cinnamon sticks together, played badminton and often tickled a trolip or two together. While the divorce between Butthoarder, aka Captain Candy Beard and Scorlett became evident to many gossipy outsiders, including Anne, the mustache was on high. After years of having to scrape the lips of such a creature like Scorlett, it was nice to have a break from those ghastly teeth and that rancid breath. Plus there was a new, sexy little number in town, dangling enticingly and sensually from the back of Anne Hampton's neck; the most beautiful rat tail he had ever seen whispered come hither into Mustache's burnin' ears.

Mustache was a charming fellow at that. He was thick and black, lying just above Butthoarder's lip, and always had something to say about anyone that caught his fancy, whether good or bad. Before Scorlett, the Mustache and his master went out on the town frequently, either getting a bite of greasy chicken wings with Belle Watling, or playing a naughty game of cards with the local retarded whore Lulie. But since he married that Scorlett creature, the two hadn't been the same, and Mustache couldn't help but feel depressed about this. He drooped in resignation at the kisses he had to bestow upon Scorlett, he hissed when she tried to pick pieces of pie off Mustache's hair, and worst of all, he nearly bit her when she ordered Rhett to trim the beautiful, thick hairs that clung just above Butthoarder's lips. Mustache couldn't stand the woman and now she was gone so things should have returned to how they were…but they hadn't, not yet anyway. So tonight Mustache would party to the dawn, whether Butthoarder wanted to or not.

The dragging of Butthoarder's face over gravel wasn't enough payback for Mustache, he dragged his body over steaming heaps of horseshit and the occasional dog pile, and he strung his body along and through streams and over fences, up trellises clinging to the sides of unsuspecting women's homes. He needed to get to a decent facial hair party, something accompanying handlebars and goatees, muttonchops and a couple floozy women. At the party he drank scotch and burbon, smoked the finest cinnamon sticks and got down on the tops of chandeliers; all the while Butthoarder's bod just dangled in sheer bliss, since ignorance reigned supreme, life was good once again. Then like it's always been, Mustahce slugged, slightly drunk still and partied out, all the way home before Butthoarder would wake. Back into bed, at the ass crack of dawn, just hoping the smell of party leftovers wouldn't stir question in his master's now deluded brain. "Ahhh purrrrr" Mustache moaned and wheezed, bedtime.

Rhett was slightly suspicious of why his Mustache was limp that morning, but he didn't think much of it. He put on his blue suede suit and straw hat, strutting out the door to go see a Ms. Anne Hampton. When he reached her mansion his Mustache suddenly perked up as if he was excited.

"What is it old boy?"

"Putt burr purrr", the Mustache winked in reply.

"Ms. Anne Hampton, really? You think she has what we're looking for?" Rhett smirked.

"Purrr Purrrr".

"I'm glad you think so, because I was just going to ask her on a horse ride with us", Butthoarder smiled and his Mustache ruffled its fluffy hairs.

"RUUURRR!"

Butthoarder gave a booming laugh and said, "Calm down up there, don't worry, you'll get your chance to see Ms. Hampton…and that delicious piece of rat tail I saw peeking out behind her at the ball the other day. Don't think I didn't notice you two, those longing looks in both of your eyes nearly made my heart melt. Young love is so beautiful", Butthoarder sighed romantically.

Mustache blushed. "Buwurwururwururuwrur".

As he entered the gate, his long strides seem to turn into a half run, ohh so excited like a young lad he was, or should I say, they. The doorbell rang and a dolled up suede Mama Anne, answered in return. Her little top hat seemed to compliment her elongated face and dyke-ish appeal. The aroma of 'fartaway air freshener' wafted into the nasal passages of the two brutish charmers at the door. Mustache and Captain Candy Beard, or Big Daddy Suede, just stared in awe, while Mustache also furrowed to attention at Anne's Rattail swishing silently and longingly back and forth behind Anne.

"Hello Anne, why don't you just look gay today".

"Oh Myyyy! Why thank you Mr. Butthoarder, I must say you look quite gooood in that coincidentally matching suede suit."

They exchanged horrid smiles while Rattail gave Mustache a little flick of the curl, and Mustache shivered in wanting. He purred slightly the rest of the day. Now off to the stables to saddle up for a jolly ole' ride around the park.

The horses seemed to sense the group coming and tried to make mad dashes for the stable door, all the while belting out high neighs, but it was to no avail…they had come. Butthoarder, Mustache, Anne, and Anne's Rattail all jumped on the two calmest horses and set off for their exciting jog around the lake. Butthoarder was all small talk with Ms. Hampton, gazing into her murky brown eyes as the horse slowly bucked beneath him. He also sensed out of the corner of his eyes, Anne's meek Rattail peeking out behind her, trying to get a good look at his robust and proud Mustache. He could feel Mustache above his lip, swelling with satisfaction at the attention he was getting, some even from Ms. Anne who couldn't help but give a demure smile.

"Why Mr. Butler, your Mustache is so-so…incredible! I think Rattail back there is really taking a shine to him". Rattail blushed and hid back behind Anne's neck again, making small squeaking sounds that sounded like little giggles.

Mustache purred in interest trying to peer at Rattail once more. He just wanted to show her his true admiration for how silky and smooth her brown locks looked as they shone in the morning sun. God, what a beautiful creature!

While trotting around on two suffering horses, Butthoarder enjoying every bump and grind, Anne gave him a nervous twitch and slowly led into what would make the mustached man actually think about life without Scorlett, and possibly with Anne.

"My myy, I do have to tell you somethin' that's been weighin' on my mind for quite some time now…"

"And what would that be Miss Hampton, you look so cute in that baby blue suede suit you're wearin', god that color compliments those muddy eyes of yours."

"Big Daddy Suede"-she began-"I was the one who told Mrs. Butler, your mother, that Scorlett was in the sleazy motel with that moled up man Ashley…I'm so sorry, if you hate me I'd understand."

Butthoarder gave a sharp look and Mustache responded with a shocked squeak of glee and sheer disbelief.

They strode in silence for a few paces until Butthoarder let out a jovial laugh and smiled while eyeing Anne's little milk missiles.

"Well, that's quite alright with me...but I _dooo _expect you to make it up to me in a dare I say it...naughty manner…"

Anne then fell off the horse with a thud and Rat Tail bounced loosely, turning on Mustache watching in strain and guilty enjoyment. Butthoarder also fell off his horse, trying to make her feel better, and helped her up copping a creepy feel, which in turn sent Anne into a tizzy as she had never been touched before. Their eyes met, their hairs danced in tune with their hot bodies, the horses fled, and Butthoarder took Anne in the bushes off the trail. Mustache all the while, kissing Rat Tail with tender pokey smooches. They then made a vow of love, all four of them. It would only be time and an outbreak of herpes and yellow fever that would soon tear them apart.


	2. Things Get Freaky

***AN: Don't worry, we know this is a very weird chapter...just go with it. Be on the look out for more soon ;p**

Chapter Two: Things Get Freaky

Eleanor Butthoarder was Rhett Butthoarder's mother, and she liked to make sure that everyone knew it. Every since her son and his estranged wife's daughter had died, she knew that Scorlett was no good for her son and his esteemed Mustache. She knew that Mustache almost as well as Butthoarder did, I mean she _had_ given birth to it! She could still recall his birth today, the screaming baby and then that gasping doctor when he pulled out a little boy with a bullet hole in his chin and a thick, furry Mustache on his lips. At first they had been concerned that her son had abnormal hair growth, or perhaps miraculously a wooly muskrat had jumped onto the boy's mouth before the doctor had noticed, but none of those theories were the case. Mustache and Rhett were simply blood brothers, whether one was a human or one was a not so inanimate body part. And so when Eleanor had seen that Rhett took a liking to Ms. Hampton and Mustache had taken a liking to Rattail…well you could say she was sitting pretty. What could be more convenient then her son finding love again, and her furry Mustache son finding love for the first time.

Eleanor Butthoarder was getting breakfast ready for her sons one early morning, pancakes, breakfast sausages, oatmeal, toast and jam muffins, country crock butter bricks, crepes and of course pie and cream... or so she thought, she looked high and low for pie and cream, but they were no where to be found. She sighed and fiddled with her tea service, undoubtedly a fake, but didn't want to hurt her sons feelings for "retrieving it" from the Yankees up north. Mustache awoke with yet another head pounding migraine, and brutal hangover. Mustache smelled the fragrant morning farts and aroma of pancakes coming from Mama Butthoarder's kitchen nook. Captain Candy Beard finally awoke to Mustache pricking his upper lip with displeasure, and pulling his face in the direction of the foods. He got up, threw up, looked up and scratched his balls, both the ones down below and the ones on his chin.

"Ahhh", he stretched and breathed deeply in, "today is going to be a good day."

They sat at the table helping themselves to 8 helpings of gravy and sausage, pancakes and biscuits, jellies and jams and tons of freshly squeezed O.J. at Mama Butthoarder's expense. They giggled fiercely as they watched her struggle with her tender old people anemic arms, as she squeezed every last drop from 3 baskets of oranges she bought at the Sunday Market the previous day, and yes she got the darned sausage! Mustache was pleased with the feast of morn, and purred loudly when he got syrup in his thick black hairs.

This made Mustache scowl when he realized Scorlett would've tried to wipe the sweet maple mess from his 'stache, but also made the reality of Anne and Rat Tail that much sweeter.

Eleanor scuttled over to the table, her face dripping with sweat as she served her son and her Mustache son the second helping of the breakfast feast she had made.

"Did you get enough sleep, dearie?"

"Mmph", grunted Butthoarder as he bit into the fresh, greasy sausage skin and teared at the fat on the inside.

"Rwawawa", Mustache concurred.

"That's good, I see you like that darn sausage I spent the whole morning toiling to make".

"It's ok", was his curt reply.

"Roray".

Eleanor smiled and then promptly forgot what she had just asked and her sons' replies to it, the beginning symptoms of Alzheimer's…that, or forgetting was easier to handle then the truth of her sons' snippiness toward her.

"Were you up late, I didn't hear you get home till after my gardening club left?"

"I was out with Anne Hampton, Mother", Rhett replied eyeing the cream pie that mysteriously decided to show up, one eyebrow cocked fiercely.

"Ohh, Ms. Hampton! Really?"

"Pass the pie, Mother".

"RIE!" Mustache demanded.

"Ohh, Ms. Hampton! Really?"

"PIE, MOTHER!"

"Pie…?" Her thoughts trailed off and then Rhett and Mustache's fierce gaze caught her attention as she realized she had just made his favorite pie with cream and had laid it on the table.

"Ahhh, RIE!" she laughed to herself and served her sons a piece. "Anyway, back to Ms. Hampton…what did you two do?"

Rhett bit into the pie, its insides smooshing out into his mouth and covering Mustache in its creamy goodness. He smacked his lips, licked Mustache and then replied with a waggle of his brow, "We talked about her prerogatives".

"What are they?"

"That I'm _her_ prerogative, Mother…or more she is mine".

Eleanor smiled not realizing what a douche her son was.

"And Mustache, how is Ms. Anne's Rattail doing?"

"Ohh, I think they have reached their prerogatives as well", Rhett winked down at Mustache, which looked quite stupid since he went cross eyed when he did so.

"Ruuruuu", Mustache winked back.

"Hohoho, you boys…you're so devious!" Ms. Butthoarder giggled, getting up from the table and about to leave the dinning room.

"HEY! Where are you going? RHETT WANT MORE PIE!"

Meanwhile, off on the other side of town, Scorlett was grabbing her remainders of clothing and dildos when she received a loud raging knock at the door. She turned off her new vibrator, smiled agreeably down at it, shoved it in her hatbox and headed to the door, (Hey, they say you give up one addiction for another) her frilly dress bows flappin' behind her. She opened it only to receive a furious Anne Hampton scowling at the door.

"May I come innn?" Her eyes were burning with hate. Before Scorlett could answer she pushed passed her and plopped down on the overly embellished couch, straightening one of her nasty little top hats and fixing her choker.

"What in the heck are you doing here? I'm busy and I have to say I don't like your face, your attitude, or your tiny little boingly-zoinglies-mosquito bites- breasticles!"

Anne just looked down and sighed, then got up and spit in Scorlett's eye sending them into a hair pulling slap fest. There were sharp pointy little dagger teeth marks in Anne's arms and shoulders, Rat Tail did a number on Scorlett's left boob, and a lot of scratches. They fought for a good half hour until they got tired and decided a lunch break was necessary to discuss the hot new gossip around town.

"So why did you spit in my eye exactly?" A snarling Scorlett asked.

"Well, I knew how you betrayed Big Daddy Suede, and he has such a heart of gold you know...it just rubbed me the wrong way."

"You know that Ashley Moleman and I didn't do anything together, we were merely having a drink, or three, together in his room..."

There was a long pause; total silence for longer then it had to be comfortable. Then, a sneaky little squeaker slipped its way out of Scorlett's anus, making the smell engulf Miss Hampton. Another pause, and then Anne leapt at Scorlett full force; with a war cry that of an Indian god. They brawled and beat each other as much as they could, Scorlett pulled out her black dildo the size of a ruler and started bashing Anne in the back of the head while Anne ripped Scorlett's corset strings, pulling them tighter and tighter until she passed out, limp on the floor.

"Take that, Scorlett, you evil Tart."

And with that, Anne picked up the dildo, shoved it up her skirts, and walked out.


	3. The Darned Sausage

**AN: Things in this freaky, parallel universe seem to be heating up, I'm curious if this is still holding people's attention, tell us por favor.**

Chapter Three: The Darned Sausage

Mustache and Butthoarder were in their room; they closed the door and locked it tight. This evening was their private time, their time to do man stuff…like write in their diary, and there was no way Eleanor was going to burst in on them.

"Ohh, Mustache what a day we had together huh?"

"Ruuu".

Rhett lowered his face to the open pages on the book and waited for Mustache to pick up the pencil so he could start dictating to him what to write. Mustache always did have the better handwriting.

"Dear Diary, today Ms. Hampton and her Rattail came over to dinner. My mother couldn't have been happier…well, when she was aware of what was going on. Anyway we had a wonderful evening, chatting about the day and then settling in for a game of chess while discussing _more_ of our prerogatives. Mustache, make sure to put a winkey face in there, ok?"

"Rarara".

"Alright, thanks. As I was saying, we were playing chess and mother was dozing off in her chair…lazy ass. All she did was make a seven course dinner for me, a five course one for Mustache, and cut a piece of sausage for Anne, I swear I should trade her in for a new model, worthless old bat. Oh, uhh…what was I saying again? Oh yes! Well Anne told me that she had a run in with my former wife Scorlett, and what a run in it was. She said they got in a terrible row and that Anne even spit in Scorlett's eye! Not to mention Rattail had the gall to attack Scorlett's luscious sweaterpuppies! Needless to say Mustache was quite excited when he heard this news, he laughed for a nearly a minute…isn't that right?"

"Hehehe, pwuuwuwuw!"

"Anyway after that stimulating conversation we went to our rooms, but my Anne senses were tingling so I followed her to her room…then watched her undress through the keyhole…then did some other stuff…anyway! Once she was tucked into her bed, I opened the door and she just lay there, perfectly silent, her face was like a stone, but her eyes were alight mischief, I'd wager!"

Butthoarder and Mustache laughed.

"Rattail peeked around too and Mustache…let's just say I could feel him bristling", Rhett laughed as his face was dragged across the page as Mustache wrote furiously. "So, I went to her bed, sat down and started taking her top off, you know, undoing the ribbons and all that…I won't say I was disappointed, but it could have been better. Well, not all women are they same, I just have to remember that. Mustache was working his magic as well, wasn't he old boy?" Butthoarder winked and Mustache giggled and blushed.

"So I fumbled around in the dark with her for a bit and then slowly slugged my hand up her dress, to her leg, her thigh and then…I felt it. I grabbed for it and then it came out with my hand. I held it up to my face and there it was…the same dildo that Scorlett used to beat me with. I didn't scream but just looked at her with the thing still in my hand, and got up and left. It was weird".

"Puurpurrr", Mustache agreed.

They just stopped, everyone stopped, for the most uncomfortable, awkward situation they'd ever encountered. Eleanor being rocked in and out of sleep by her caretaker awoke dazed and looked over to see Butthoarder, Mustache and Anne wide eyed and gaping mouth, staring at what appeared to be a giant black sausage in Candy Beard's hands.

She mumbled quietly in the dark corner, something about forgetting the darned sausage and passed out again.

They just stared, still and blank. Anne finally snatched the "sausage" from Butthoarders' sticky fingers and made a motion to throw it out the window when the chair creaked loudly. Eleanor woke startled to see Miss Hampton about to commit the worst atrocity in her household since walking in on Butthoarder's strip poker with a variety of sea creatures in role play costumes...that was a weird night.

"Ohhh Noooo, not my darned sausage, no you don't, not this time!" Eleanor cried as she attempted what looked to be a run, to grab the big over used pleasure poker.

"NO MOTHER!" Butthoarder yelled.

But it was too late; Eleanor snatched the enormous 5th appendage from Anne's hands and shuffled off to her room to protect the darned sausage.

Anne and Rhett were quiet for a moment, after Mrs. Butthoarder's door closed shut; they burst into maniacal laughter, and proceeded to kiss each other clean taking their business back to Rhett's childhood bedroom, still decorated in cowboy sheets and funsie-onsies in the drawers. Mustache purred them to sleep after quite a romp in the hay, and Rattail curled lovingly around the furry devil, as sleep ensued.

"Gooood Morrrninggg!" Rang Eleanor's senile, old voice from the kitchen, the scent of burning rubber filling the air.

They then ran into the kitchen to find two plates set fourth, piled high with toast, biscuits, eggs and…what was supposed to be a giant, black, sausage, sizzling sinisterly on old lady china.

"This is gonna be a long day", sighed Rhett, and Anne meekly agreed, with her hands clasped around her mouth.


	4. It's An Irish Thang

**AN: Don't worry, we're not racist against Irish people, we're just playing up the ridiculous characters from Scorlett. Congrats, it you've made it this far in the story, you appreciate this fine, strange, comedic writing; it'll only get better from now on, aha p**

Chapter Four: It's An Irish Thang

Scorlett was alone in her bedchamber with an open bottle of whiskey next to her, and a worn out, old dildo cradled in her lap. This was what her days consisted of now: Sleeping, Drinking and slapping the old turtle. Damn that Anne Hampton! Damn her! How could she take Scorlett's sweet Big Daddy Suede away from her? And that rat tail that acted like a shy five year old! How could that scruffy, old Mustache prefer that Rattail to the one Scorlett would dawn every few weeks? It just wasn't fair, it just wasn't! But Scorlett had gotten the last laugh, well sort of. One day after snacking on hot pockets and dancing the night away, Scorlett and Butthoarder boarded his sad excuse for a boat and took sail upon the open ocean. A random storm took them by and miraculously they both lived and landed on a fully furnished and supplied beach hut with a crackling fireplace, to be used at their disposal. There they had made love. Sweet, passionate, caveman love, flavored by the sea salt air and the bits of cream left over in Butthoarder's Mustache. It was sweet, so sweet. And after that scene in the next few weeks she had felt terribly sick, almost as if she was going to pop out a…baby!

Scorlett thought to herself as the days passed on how to get out of town, the gossip surely would be too much to bear once they found out about the divorce, a one sided one at that. She toiled away with dreams of sugar plum fairies, rolling green hills and abusive smokin' hot lords of Fenton. That's it! There has to be some estranged, forgotten family members still strugglin' for potato scraps and Irish cream in Ireland! With that thought in mind, Scorlett made her way down to meet the intoxicated Irish side, a side she knew she'd have plenty in common with. She wandered drunkenly into a local shop run by the town drunk, an absent minded 89 year old Irish man, who's wrinkles shown the wear and tear of 1,000's of bar fights, barrels of booze and the sag that would put Mother Mary's tits to shame.

"Hello, is this the O'Hara general good store?"

"Tis".

"Are you an O'Hara?"

"Tis".

"Perhaps Jaime O'Hara?"

"Tis".

"Tis?"

"I am", he blurted out, angry at having to refrain from his Irish words.

"Well, then you must be my uncle!" she gave a creepy, gremlin smile that nearly gave her uncle a heart attack.

"Oh really? Not one known to me, tis you not".

He gave her a look like she was covered in dog shit and tipped his head up in a snotty manner so she could clearly see his nostril hairs poking out.

"hehe!" she cackled.

The rest of the day Scorlett followed him around wherever he went, staring around his shoulder, giving him that spine tingling smile, and finally following him home right on his heels by just a mere one foot. When she ended up at the house of the O'Hara's, it seemed his family finally believed that she was his dear brother's daughter. Why she decided to bother them they did not know, but they didn't ask her to leave for fear that she'd turn into a banshee and snap at their limbs with her sharp, shiny teeth or at least sue all of their asses. Irish superstitious in that way. So it was that day that she sat shelling pees with her cousin's wife, telling the brutal tale of how she sucked all her husbands dry when she met the glob of bacon grease-er-uh, excuse me- the man that would change her life. Father Column O'Hara.

Column was a man of many talents, gunrunning, eating, preachin' the good word, and of course, a good rape and pillage or two. He stepped out of the shadows of the pantry, in a waft of bacon and…was that children? Anyways, he gave her a bright big ole' triple chin smile and that crooked nose breathed in Scorletts sweaty and tear soaked scent deeply. "Mmmm gooood, very nice", he thought to himself, "just please don't let her be a cousin, please don't be a cousin-please don't be a-"

"Column! Ya terrible man, are ya just gonna stand there or are you gonna come say hello to your cousin – ("AH Damnit!") Scorlett, come from Charleston to meet her long lost O'Hara kin, and long overdue it twas!"

He greeted her with a fat man's hug, those lingering sweaty hugs, the type that you are hugged so close, you slowly morph into his skin folds, and where you can't quite wrap your arms around him fully, but just enough to feel the bacon slabs ultimately apart of his back itself.. .basically, she was smitten.

"Column, she said, Hello, I've been dying to meet you all for a long time."

He took a deep breath, sucking up stray hairs from her tightly wrapped curls into his nasal passage, the hairs from his nose intermingled with her wild loose threads. At that moment, they connected, a deep disturbing connection, and they knew, they'd have to keep what was soon to be an inbred love affair, secret.

A month after the fateful encounter, Scorlett and Column were off to Ireland, the land of sheep fuckers, overflowing beer, and religious prejudices. All the while in the coach to her Grandmother's shack, Column was idly chatting away to her about some nonsense, but Scorlett wasn't really paying attention. She was looking into Column's beady little eyes, folded over by his fat rolls, and twinkling brightly as he spoke of how terrible English people were.

"The English have been trying to keep us down for years", he preached, his double chin flopping like a set of wet milk motels. "It's time we show them what we're made of, that's why I'm helping the Fenian Brotherhood smuggle guns into Ireland…you know, for peace".

Scorlett gave her gremlin smile and laughed, "Oh shucks, Column, why isn't that just fascinating!"

"Tis. By bringing guns here we can shoot all of those English pigs and restore peace to this be-troubled land once more! You know guns solve all of God's problems my child…plus speaking of children, the carnage of those lovely children's bodies littering Ireland will need to be picked up by someone…" he looked off out the window, all of a sudden licking his lips quietly.

Scorlett didn't even notice, she was too enraptured with the bit of fat poking out of his priest's collar. It jiggled and flubbered all around, totally unaware of just how damn enticing it was, and how it made Scorlett want her good, old dildo again.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of staring at each other's fascinating flaws that made them want to swap family juices, and booty romp to some dirty beats, they arrived sexually tense; at the piece of shit shack on the hillside, where Bridey, Tim, Father Daniel, O.G. Cathleen, and molding, old grandmother Katie Scorlett, greeted her with drunken, Irish gusto. She took a leap out of the carriage, falling face first into some old puke from ancient grandmother Katie Scorlett the night before, obviously a pint too many. Tim made a B-line for her and picked her up just a little too late. They had a moment of silence until they all perked up cheerfully and laughed a jolly laugh it twas. Filing one by one back into the shack, for Scorlett to clean up and check out her new digs. She could tell this was gonna be a grand experience, and couldn't wait to bring a baby into such a beautiful, wondrous place.


	5. The Fabled Pie

**AN: We see Mustache for who he really is *sob*.**

Chapter Five: The Fabled Pie

Back in Charleston Butthoarder, Mustache, Anne, and Anne's Rattail were enjoying the seven course dinner Rhett's mother had slaved away all day making for them. Since we last left them off, Anne was now officially Anne Hampton Butthoarder and her Rattail was the same. They scarfed down their meals, shoveling mashed potatoes, ham sandwiches and various other assortments of foods down their gullets, then wetted their whistles with some champagne. Their stomachs were sagging with food babies.

"So, my dear Mrs. Butthoarder, does the meal agree with you?" winked Rhett over at his wife, his Mustache mimicking his master's actions.

"Could be some more beans, dairy products and cauliflower, but other than that, the food is perfectly adequate", Anne then belched and Rattail gave a little giggle.

"There would be more of those delicious foods, dearest **if** they didn't do a number of my tum-tum".

Anne gave him a questioned look.

"As in my passing gas, sugarcakes", Rhett chuckled.

"Don't joke about that!" Anne snapped, her eyes black with fury.

Mustache and Butthoarder shrank back in their chairs and gave each other 'this-bitch-is-so-crazy' looks.

"Anyway, what I was saying before was, for our one year anniversary I was thinking we could take a trip to Ireland!"

"OH MY!"

Eleanor popped into the room with a tray of pies in her arms.

"Ireland, can I come?"

"NO! Just serve us the damn pies, mother!"

"Ruuruuu!" Mustache agreed.

"Yes, son", Eleanor sniffled, one small tear falling down her check, lowering the pies to the table as Rhett eyed them hungrily.

The pies were being passed around the table, Mustache had his own personal mini-pie, which he looked at and questioned... it made him wonder, it made him quiver. There was something vague in his little mustache brain, which was also Rhett's, that there was another woman before, and something had happened to her. But he couldn't quite put his wee furry finger on it. Anne's Rattail swooshed a little, blushing and blowing a rat tail kiss to Mustache. He in turn smiled meekly, and made a small sexy growl. By then Rhett had already gobbled down 8 apple pies and two slices of blueberry, Anne disposed of the gassy foods and Mama Butthoarder dozed in and out of sleep for least for half the dinner.

"Mustache old boy, what's with you tonight, you seem down in the dumps." Rhett asked, as the crumbs fell gloomily out of Mustache.

"bruubruuu" Mustache replied, trying to sound more upbeat.

"You're telling me nothing is wrong, yet you didn't hold onto the crumbs of pie that you love so much, but if you say nothing's wrong, I believe you."

Mustache was silent still, but Rattail chortled his name and purred behind Anne, and when nothing was returned this time, Anne decided to remove Rattail from the scene, and look for some gas preventing medicines she thought probable to be in the Butthoarder household. Mustache glanced at the mini-pie once more in dismay, and Rhett sighed along with him. There was something missing from his life... he just had to figure out exactly what.

Late that night as Butthoarder was dead asleep, Anne snoring loudly next to him, Mustache was contemplating his thoughts from that evening's diner. Rattail was snuggled up to him, laying her smooth Rattail face onto his strong, unyielding, Mustache chest and breathing dreamily. She was so beautiful, so wonderful, but Mustache couldn't forget now, he could never forget the other woman in his life.

Cream pie, her name and what she was, was cream pie. Another not so inanimate inanimate object that had struck his fancy when Mustache was just a young, few ,wispy hairs on teenage Butthoarder's upper lip (Butthoarder has briefly tried shaving his 18th year, just to try it, and Mustache being half bald was the result.) Either way that's when he met …her.

It was at Belle Watling's newly constructed whorehouse and Rhett was invited to celebrate the monumental event, along with all the other scum of the city. There was a great feast of many different foods and deserts, but Cream Pie was the cream of the crop. She lit up the room, shone like a foreign planet in the night sky, and was just totally hawt! Mustache was smitten the minute he saw her.

The light bounced off her creamy white layers, her graham cracker crust was crumbly and just begging to be loved…Mustache obliged. That night, the first night they had even met, he dragged Butthoarder to her bedroom and the two had hot, sweaty, wall banging sex all night long. And they were loud too! Most people just assumed the moaning sounds coming from pie's bedroom was just someone with an upset stomach from the evenings feast, but no, it was two not so inanimate inanimate objects making love till the morn. And oh what a love it was. They wrapped their young bodies around each other, seeming to stretch and bend in places they never knew possible, and when they were done the first time, they started again, an almost inhuman energy coursing through their inanimate veins.

The next morning Butthoarder woke up with little dollops of left over cream still on his upper lip. He groggily licked it off and noticed that Mustache was still sound asleep, almost like he had been exhausted from the night before. But Rhett shrugged it off and wondered where he could get some more of that delicious pie that he has tasted on his lip. He crept around the whorehouse, looking and looking for more pie…until he found her.

"Ruuuuu", Rattail purred as she felt her Mustache husband's chest start to quiver, almost as if he was about to cry.

"Ruu Raa Ru Red", he whispered to her, trying to make her close her eyes again.

Rattail took this the wrong way though and slowly started to descend down to Mustache's nether regions, thinking she'd do her husband some good favor since he had acted so gentlemanly this evening.

"Ru Ruu RUU!" he snapped, pushing her away and then turning to the other side of the bed. Rattail was taken aback and furiously turned away and shut her eyes. Mustache reflected some more.

That's when Butthoarder had found her, asleep and helpless, the perfect target for someone like his master to take advantage of. Needless to say when Mustache awoke, he found his love in his disheveled hairs, knowing exactly what had happened to her. Days, weeks and months passed, Mustache trying to forget and forgive, but in the back of his mind, she was always there…his beloved cream pie.


	6. Ain't No Thing But An English Fling

**AN: Sorry this chapter is so short, but it's so hilarious that it deserves it's own chapter.**

Chapter Six: Ain't No Thing But An English Fling

Scorlett was groggily pouring a cup of coffee, the first one awake at the shack in Ireland. She got dressed in some of O.G. Cathleen's clothes she had stolen the previous day, and decided to free ball it since the weather seemed humid already. Thoughts of Column swirled in her girlish mind, his lumps and rolls rocked her world in her dreams, and she fantasized about those thin, flaky lips smoochin' her frail body up and down. Ohh, the thought of his pubic hair-ish curls on top of his head forming around her cheeks as she imagined his sweet, tender kisses made her swoon and she had to take a moment to catch her breath.

"What a man", she said out loud to herself.

Saddling up the giant Clydesdale horse she repoed from Father Daniel, she decided to trot off to Column's house for a quickie before the others woke up.

The sun was coming up by then, just peeking over the horizon, while she stopped at the old Ballyhara place that had been catching her eye back and fourth from the gunrunning priest's bachelor pad. All of a sudden a man rode up, dressed dapper with pimp hand strong, to say hello. They chatted for a minute about southern intellect and what it lacked, about paddys and the karma sutra, about how rich he was and how big boobed Scorlett was. In those few minutes, Ballyhara became Scorlett's new residence, and they were upstairs christening the new bedchamber. It was only then through the phrase the mysterious man chanted "WHATS MY NAME BITCH!" that Scorlett learned that his name, Lord Fenton, was the perfect suitor for a good time in Ireland, and that free ballin' was underrated. When they finished up and exchanged addresses and times to meet, Scorlett forgot about the good father Column, and the new sex god Lord Fenton, with all his groping, spanking and smokin'; could rock her world like no other. He didn't even care she was 9 months pregnant.

Ahh, the English, they really new how to make a woman feel special. And with a pat on the ass, Scorlett was off.


	7. The Horse Fair

Chapter Seven: The Horse Fair

A few weeks (and some tender parts) later, Scorlett went to visit Column in his priesty, little, Irish shack. It was the first time she had ever ventured to his bachelor pad, after being distracted by Lord Fenton the first time, so she was excited to see his humble dwelling and then write about how much better her house was than his in her diary that night.

When she arrived she couldn't help but feel creeped out by all of the tacky Catholic paraphernalia that was plastered all over his walls. Multiple Jesus statues watched her as she fetched them a cup of tea out of his Jesus teapot, Jesus teacups and, of course, Jesus tea cozy. She could feel all the saintly eyes on her and suddenly felt very ashamed, what with all the kinky stuff her and Fenton were up to in the bedchamber lately.

"Here's your tea", she set the cup down in front of Column.

"Thanks", he sipped the tea and waggled his brow at her ass as she sat down on the next seat parallel from him. "So, what's new with ye lately?"

"Had a baby, got my uterus pulled out, along with other numerous body parts. Grandmas an idiot, she should know C-sections don't start above your belly button".

"I hate when that happens", Column sighed.

Scorlett gave him an odd look but continued anyway, all of a sudden feeling repulsed by the very creature she had found so deliciously sexy when she first met him. I guess nothing could compare to the Fenton now.

"I want to get a good piece of horse flesh", she thought back to her horse ride with Lord Fenton last Wednesday, they went bare back (and not just on the horse either). Scorlett blushed and continued, "Where can I get one?"

Column briefly thought of mentioning that she could find it in the form of his genitalia, but he kept his mouth shut. "How about I take you to a horse fair next week?"

"Sounds wonderful", Scorlett said through gritted teeth.

The horse fair was a big event in Ireland, the finest pieces of horse flesh were pumpin' their great loins through generations of tough, heavyweight champions, and I mean those badboys could drink you under the table, and go home and bang yo mama. The sweet air filled with the smells of horseshit, fat, boxing men, stick in an apple, and an abundance of redheads made Scorlett woozy with delight. Column, on the other hand, was focused on one thing, and one thing only, he knew she had been seeing an anonymous English man in his absence and wanted her full attention back on him. He played the flute from a passerby, he preached with passion in front of an unamused crowd, he tamed a wild bucking bronco, and even snuck into the bushes and ate a small, stray orphan selling newspapers…but anyways, the point is, she was not impressed. Not only unimpressed, she hardly noticed anything he was doing. All that filled her puny, little brain was recollections of boozed up boob grabs in the lobbies of hotels, wild blonde hair, and a sly smile on the face of that Lord Fenton; even that strong sturdy shaft, the one not only down below, but the one he used in role play night, spanking his pony Scorlett-whipping her into shape.

"That's the stuff dreams are made of", she cooed.

"What was that Scorlett? You say something?" Column asked concerned.

"Oh no, sorry, I was just –AHHHH!"

She screamed so loud Column pulled out a gun and fired three quick rounds into the air in terror and surprise. The crowd paid no attention.

"Oh my god, Column, that's my ex-husband...he's eyein' that white horse, the one over there that's so beautiful it could be in a fantasy of me riding it in a white fuzzy nightgown…" She trailed off, bug eyed and gazing at the tall man at a nearby corral.

He turned to see a man with a prominent, proud mustache and a straw hat, wearing a heavy, blue suede suit, and sporting a bullet hole in his chin the size of Texas.

"Glory be to god, Scorlett, that's him? Why... he's beautiful...there's somethin' so familiar about him, I can't quite put my finger on..."

Column's mouth dropped as Scorlett abandoned him to go up to the tall, hairy man. Memories consumed the love struck priest, the only two he's ever loved, were once married.

Scorlett strutted over to Butthoarder, her eyes blazing, her chest heaving at just the thought of him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mustache sensed a beast approaching, and not of the horse variety. It was Scorlett, he could smell and see her from a mile away. All of those months he thought he had finally been rid of her, and she shows up. And in Ireland too…what the hell?

"Why, hello there Mr. Butthoarder", she smiled through pointy chompers.

"Why, Scorlett, is that you? Why good golly miss Molly, shoot me down and call me a dolphin raper, what are you doing here?" Scorlett was surprised that Butthoarder didn't run away screaming like half the men in her life did.

Mustache furrowed and then gave a small growl.

"Down boy", Rhett hissed through gritted teeth.

"Well, I'm just here for some good horse flesh, you know? No better horse flesh then here in Ireland", Scorlett giggled to herself. Of course that phrase was true for the horses and the hot, anonymous sex she had with a certain British Earl.

"Indeed that is so; I'm here for the same reason as well".

"Oh, you're having hot, steamy sex with a British Earl too?"  
>"Uhhhhhhhh?"<p>

"Ruuuuhhhhh?"

"Ohh, ooopps, teehee, just ignore that comment", Scorlett snorted with laughter. "Anyway what kinda horse flesh you looking for then?"

"I was thinking about getting this white horse", Rhett smiled sticking his hand out into the corral so the horse would come over to him. The horse saw his hand, gave a winy scream and ran off in the other direction.

"Don't get a white horse…they stain too easily", Scorlett said seriously.

"Umm, excuse me, what do you mean by that my dear?" Mustache perked up with interest.

"They stain, well I mean white does blend with white, but you can tell after a few goes on it".

"A few goes?"

"A few romps on the horse I mean-Ohhh, oops, forget I said that".

Even though it wasn't night time and the sun was still shining brightly, the whole fair seemed to go quiet and crickets came out for a five second serenade.

"I must be going…talk to you later, Rhett", she gave a disgustingly sugary smile and strutted off back to a gaping Column.

Rhett stroked his chin, his brow furrowed in thought, and then him and Mustache shared a confused look.

They both pondered the thought of staining a white horse, then burst into immature laughter together, and resentfully Mustache smiled a little at the joke.

Column was standing now, as sexily as he could, half leaning trying to be cool against a fence post that bent as soon as he touched it. Like his own gravitational pull threw the post almost to the ground. Scorlett ignored him and hurried past him, to strut her stuff away from such a blimp, such a beached whale of a man. She needed to show Rhett that her ass hadn't completely lost its shape after childbirth, and the weight gain that accompanied it.

Column didn't take it too personally as he had caught the eye of another, a Mr. Butthoarder, their twinkling eyes met and they shared a sexy little smile. Until Column winked, bringing back memories from the time they shared a man cave in Mexico. Those hot, sticky nights in nothing but rompers and baby oil. They were crazy back then, and so was Column's heart, he fell for him almost immediately.

They met while gunrunning in Mexico and for a secretive closed mouthed exchange. Then a sudden rare Mexican hurricane hit up in the mountains and they were forced to take shelter in a cave for 3 months. They survived only on rainwater and 38 chocobars Column had bought from a small boy in town, who he later made into a stew in the back of a dirty bar. Butthoarder was lonely and so was Column, but there was one difference between their sexual encounters, Butthoarder was lookin' for some fun, and Columns heartstrings got caught up, and he got hurt...after they made it out of the mountains, they parted ways, and never were to speak of what horrid, kinky man sex they had up there again.

Their gaze broke, and Column's heart cracked, he rubbed his nipple longingly at Butthoarder, and when he looked away, Column felt as shot down as that little boy in Mexico.

Mustache looked at Column as well, trying to recall all of the memories Butthoarder and he had shared. Mustache could remember the face, but that wasn't what was bothering him, there was something about that man that gave him the creeps, something not so inanimate about one of his body parts….and then Mustache remembered. He saw the curly, sandy corkscrew hairs flap in the mind and Mustache gasped. It was Column's Curly Qs, how on earth could Mustache forget those sadistic Curly Qs? It was all coming back to him now, when Butthoarder and Column were locked away in their Mexican cabin, Mustache and Curly Qs had also experimented on each others bodies, and it was an experience that Mustache thought he had finally forgotten…until now.


	8. Frisky Foxhounds

**AN: So, what do you guys think so far? Drop a review, much appreciated, and remember to keep checking in for updates ;p**

Chapter Eight: Foxy Friskhounds

Later that evening, back at their fancy vacation home, Rhett, Mustache, Anne and Rattail were enjoying themselves around the dinner table; engorging their tummies with whole chickens, cakes and various ways to feast on a potato. Mustache was even more in the dumps now, all these horrible memories he tried so hard to forget were all rushing back to him now. Scorlett's scary presence in town, the sweet, passionate love of his life, Pie, and now the abusive Curly Q relationship he endured for three months against his mustachey will. Rattail was being pushed further and further away, she slept by herself on the back of Anne's blotchy neck, crying herself to sleep at the fact that Mustache would no longer would touch her. They quarreled over spilt milk and long, dead dreams. Mustache, one evening, even growled at her, not a sexy growl-but a raise his little furs in rage kinda growl, and from then on Rattail became fed up and emotionally detached. She longed for the sweet pokes and prickly kisses of that once proud Mustache…the mustache she met a year ago. But he was gone, and Rattail didn't know why.

The following week Mustache had separated from Rhett at night, gone on long, thoughtful walks alone, sulking in the dark cafes late at night, smoking thick cinnamon sticks while plump tears fell to the floor. He was distraught and alone in this world now, or so he thought. Out of the corner of his eye, a deep purple Marion berry Pie, shimmered in glistening juices and glorious, crispy crust. She was sitting alone at a table in the center of the room, smoking from what looked to be a French quellazaire, or cigarette holder. She glanced up briefly and, disinterested, looked away pretentiously. This, he thought, was what he'd been looking for, a pie so mysterious, so beautiful and dark, so... perfect; he needed her to fill the hole in his heart.

He looked down in deep thought for a sheer moment, and when he looked back up, she was gone. He'd only hoped he would see her again, sometime soon.

Meanwhile as Mustache was out on the town, looking for some fine pie hole to tear into, Butthoarder awoke from his sleep when he felt a small, tight toot slip out of his butthole and quickly Dutch oven under the blankets. Rhett tensed up, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead at the thought of Anne waking up and smelling his atrocious anal acoustics. Rhett looked down at his upper lip, expecting Mustache to be freaking out alongside him, but he was gone.

"Damn you Mustache, where are you? I know you find your wife appalling to touch at the moment, but I need some backup if Anne wakes up".

Rhett heard a squeaking sob and saw Rattail quickly turn to the other side of the bed, shaking with salty tears. I guess she heard me, he thought, and then shrugged.

All of a sudden a fat, wet one ripped from him bumhole and Rhett pressed his hands to his mouth in shock.

"Ruu ruing RAN!"

"No, Rattail, there's not need to wake her up and tell her-"

Anne stirred, slowly opening her eyes and then her little nose twitched. She inhaled the creamy fart and then sat bolt up right in her bed, her eyes sparking, and her breath ragged.

"RHETT!"

"Anne, it was an accident! I-I…how about I take you to a foxy friskhound foxhunt?" Rhett gave a hopeful yet terrified smile as Anne unruffled her feathers and thought about all the cute little puppies that would be there.

"Anne likes puppies", she cooed.

Scorlett was lacing up her corsets, and putting on her dependz, (after having a C-section the length of her entire stomach, it rearranged to where she pees when she's excited or spooked, much like a small bugged eyed Chihuahua, or Michelle Duggar), while Lord Fenton graciously undid her corsets as soon as she finished and threw her across her massive bed. They played hide the salami, plowin' cheeks, the horizontal mambo, and the vertical joyride. After a good 8 hours, Lord Fenton finally satisfied, laid next to her in bed. She was asleep and been asleep for the past couple hours, he sighed with please in his funsie onesies, and smoked a pack of cigarettes.

"My goodness Fenton! I gotta get going if I'm gonna make it to see the foxy frisk hound hunt in time!"

She rolled out of bed and got dressed as quickly as possible. She knew Rhett would be makin' an appearance, in what she hoped, would be a red, suede suit, so she briskly dressed to match. In a red suede dress, ruffles billowing off her shoulders, bows attached to the front of both her breasteses, red dyed peacock feathers sewn into her sleeves, and a tiny, itsy top hat the shade of the embarrassment she'd have to face when Anne realized she stole HER itsy top hat. Yes, one of these days Scorlett would have to come to the realization that she was a kleptomaniac.

She left Lord Fenton lying in bed, although he had already slapped her ass with anticipation for the next round of topless boob boxing with a girl, Mary, she briefly met a couple days before.

"Ohh myy why aren't you just a sly devil you are!" She grinned widely showing off sharp little shark teeth. Then ran to hop on the giant Clydesdale. All the while Lord Fenton's pumping pole of penile power stood in attention while she jiggled out the door, then it drooped in disapproval when there wasn't a fun play toy at hand.

She made it just in time; Rhett was already atop his brilliant steed, the depressed looking white horse he bought from fair. His red suit shown like a bloody tampon in the sun, his bullet hole chin especially black and deep as Davey Jones' locker.

"Why hello Rhett" she flashed a toothy smile.

"Why, Scorlett, don't you just love following me around these days?" he tried to smile, but she could tell he was annoyed and slightly frightened with her.

"No, it's strictly a coincidence", she snapped, too soon after his words for him to believe her.

They chatted for a minute longer until they released the hounds with the shrill horn of a trumpet! And then they were off.

Once the hounds were released, chasing the poor innocent fox, Scorlett's horse bolted off like a bat out of hell, but Rhett's horse was still faster, inevitably trying to get away from both Scorlett and his rider, Butthoarder. But to no avail…of course.

Scorlett looked rather smug on her horse, pretending to know what she was doing, not aware of how utterly retarded she looked. The horse bucked and continued riding beneath her, desperate to get to the fox before even the dogs could, but Butthoarder was still in the lead.

Scorlett's such an assclown, Mustache thought to himself, observing how Scorlett was still smirking proudly as her horse looked terrified beneath her. Finally in the last run, Scorlett passed Buthhoarder and shot him a satisfied toss of the head. Butthoarder grinned, planning on passing her in the next minute. He wanted that fox so he could stuff it and hide it in his mother's closet. He giggled as he imagined her blood curdling scream when she opened her drawers to see a tiny, snarling fox waiting for her.

But while Scorlett was staring at the dumb grin on Rhett's face, with her own shit grin spread wide across her face, a tiny twig popped out in front of her. She tried to dodge it, but it was too late, for when she turned around to see where she was going the tiny stick flicked her face and knocked her clean off her horse and back nearly ten feet. Rhett passed her for a minute but then figured he should go back to help her, since no one else was. Mustache didn't feel so generous.


	9. Things Get Physical

**AN: Glad to see you people are still reading this and we really appreciate you doing so! The story starts to really heat up after this. Drop a review, thanks ;D**

Chapter Nine: Things Get Physical

She woke up in a random room, it smelled fresher then any she'd ever been in, but her head was in a haze and throbbing. An extra large bottle of fartaway air freshener stood next to her on an end table. There were various gas ridding products aligned on a top shelf above a large vanity. Her blurry vision subsided for a minute and she noticed a particularly dykish looking woman sitting at the end of her bed.

"Hello Scorlett" Anne said with a look of pity in her eyes.

"Why...what, what happened? Why am I here? WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Scorlett spit in Anne's face and Rat Tail hissed angrily.

"Calm down, Rat Tail", Anne said, wiping the spit away with a dirty hanky she pulled out from her skirts.

"I'm here because I felt this overwhelming desire to see you, in a private moment I mean."

Scorlett's gigantic eyes narrowed, her heart raced and she clenched her fists.

"Well get outta here you stupid skank, I want to see Rhett, I wanna see my ex-husband, not his little, boyish trolip."

Anne started getting angrier and she had to hold Rat Tail back from lunging at Scorlett's face. She tried to compose herself, but failed when another honkin' lugie struck her other eye.

"THAT'S IT! I'M PREGNANT WITH RHETT'S BABY AND THERES NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!"

Scorlett screamed a shrill, pterodactyl screech and with black lady acrylic nails, 4 inches in length and decorated with stars and hearts accordingly, she attacked. Furiously punching Anne's stomach and kneeing the baby to its doom, to its demise. She wanted that god awful seed to be destroyed in any way possible, and she preferred the worst way.

But, oh, Anne fought back; she whipped out the infamous, 12 inch, black dildo which had been glued and taped back together, even stitched in parts, yet still sizzling a little deep down in it's core from that memorable breakfast. Anne vigorously beat Scorlett's hands away, her nails glinting in the sunset, shrieks and screams echoed through the halls as the fur flew. Locks of hair were wrenched out from their skulls, like a manual scalping, the dresses were shred to smithereens, and they kicked each other like mules.

When they were both knocked unconscious by a vase and a decorative horseshoe, they awoke to find a small crowd surrounding them; Rhett was looking amused while Column and Mr. Moreland exchanged looks of awe and terror. Butthoarder picked up Anne and Dr. Mead popped in out of nowhere checking her belly for signs of life.

"...nothing".

The crowd cried and dispersed. While Rhett let out a howling, "NOOOOOOOO!"

Scorlett woke up with a front tooth missing, and two black eyes, that dildo was hardcore, my friends, made for the thickest black women.

"Scorlett, you killed mah, mah babayyy!" Anne cried as the fetus slipped out of a gapin' canal. There were no words for such an atrocity. As night descended, so did their hearts, except for one, Scorlett.

* * *

><p>Eleanor was alone in the old house and not knowing what to do with herself. Even after all of those years of having servants to do her work for her, she never knew this feeling that she was feeling now. Peaceful, calm serenity that was washing over her. It was the feeling of having to do nothing at all. Eleanor never knew she could not have a full day's work ahead of her, and now she couldn't think of a single thing to do with herself.<p>

Her schedule usually went so:

6:00 AM: Eleanor wakes up and hobbles down to the kitchen to start Butthoader, Mustache, Anne and Anne's Rattail's seven to ten course breakfasts, usually depending on how hungry her precious son was.

9:00 AM: Eleanor serves the food to her family, sits down at the table, watching the others chow down without offering her a scrap, and then usually falls asleep in her chair from exhaustion.

Noon: Eleanor goes out to the stable and saddles up the horses for Butthoader and Anne's ride, since she's the only the one the horses allow to touch them. It's a hard task for her to do since she has beginning symptoms of Alzheimer's and arthritis.

1:00 PM: She starts the ten course dinner plus deserts, plus freshly made ice-cream. And leaves out a small snack of pumpkin pie for lunch.

7:00 PM: Eleanor serves her family dinner, with the same results from breakfast.

8:00 PM: Eleanor heads to bed, after serving Rhett scotch and cookies before his beddy-bye-time.

Of course her schedule did vary every once in a while, but this was usually her set course of work.

So now Eleanor had no idea what to do with herself, she shuffled around the room going through drawers and such until she found…it.

It was the darn sausage! Eleanor grabbed for it with a gleeful smile and gave it a hug (she was rather socially isolated recently, what with Butthoarder being gone for six months or so.)

"We are going to have so much fun today sausage", she cooed.

Eleanor grew tired of being isolated, then forgot that she was isolated, due to the Alzheimer's, then realized it again. She remembered the old ring of craft ladies that once dawned her dining room. So she mailed Sally and shortly after she arrived; after crashing into several innocent bystanders with her carriage, of course. She shone like a tall burley man, muscular and strong, with powerful stallion legs, a braided, spiraled bun, milky blue eyes and a cinnamon stick cigar pokin' out of her mouth, creating the illusion she was always missing one tooth.

"HELLO ELEANOR! Long time no see, ya old prune, I missed ya!"

Eleanor gave Sally a weak wave hello and Sally scooped up the fragile old bat in her manly arms, squeezing her so tight a bit of old lady poo leaked out.

She invited her inside and went to clean herself up, when she returned to her dining area, smoke filled the entire room, I mean that place looked like a swamp in a Scooby-doo movie.

"My goodness gracious, Sally, I'm so glad to see you, I've been so, so lonely...I mean I made a 12 course breakfast this morning, then realized no one was home!"

Sally let out a booming cackle and Eleanor giggled along with her. Sally was smokin' like a chimney, lightin' up one cigar after another, her tar caked lungs were black as midnight and she'd hack and cough often, but everyone forgave her due to the enormous amount she had in the bank.

They conversed for a while over various nick knacks and crafts and such. They pondered how to treat Eleanor's old lady narcolepsy and how to bleach Sally's teeth white. What fun times they were having. Just too bad that across the pond, O.G. Cathleen and them kin folks of hers had fallen into the rears and needed a scapegoat.


	10. Keeping It Gangsta

**AN: Prepare for the most badass character you've ever read!**

Chapter 10: Keeping it Gangsta!

Cathleen O.G. had earned her name at the tender age of fifteen. She swore her allegiance to a small gang of male thugs at the time, but soon worked her way up to the top of the food chain, becoming the "head dog", if you will. She dominated other gangs in the area, making them become her personal bitch and soon her gang was flourishing with newly recruited members. Cathleen couldn't remember how many innocent people she might have killed, how many drive-bys she had to distribute or how many hoes she had slapped around, but whatever it was, she had done it countless numbers of times. Anywhere you went in Ireland, everyone always said Cathleen was the true O.G. of that beautiful, be-troubled land (plus she had seen Scarface 100 times which really helped her rep.) But since she had entered her early 40's the gangsta life wasn't enough for her. She woke up one morning and looked around, realizing she had no husband, no children and a terrible coke addiction. Cathleen went clean in the next few months and eventually retreated back to a life of simple peasant work on her family's farm, but her pimp hand was still way strong, and everyone knew it. So why a bunch of pussy English goons would be knocking on her door on this glorious day, she had no idea. Didn't they know who she was? Didn't they respect that she would gladly pop a cap in their asses if they didn't back the fuck off?

The Englishmen were aware of O.G. Cathleen's rep, and they feared her for it. They trotted up on their fancy English ponies and started setting up their favored house destroyer, aka 4 logs to knock down a house. They tried furiously to get this done before O.G. Cathleen would arrive home and find out what they had been doing...and pop a cap in their ass with her glock. While they hurried their setup, Scorlett off at the Earls payin' his little buddy, or should I say big buddy, a visit, Father Daniel and Bridie consoled a shameless, bawling Tim. He was on the ground screaming and in tears when his big sister rolled around the bend, blastin' ghetto soul music and bumpin' and grindin' with her hoochie crew up in her carriage. There was a sudden scratch and the music cut off and everyone went silent. The Englishmen's eyes bulged nearly out of their heads as O.G. Cathleen's eyes narrowed toward her baby brother Tim.

"No one fucks with my baby bro." O.G. Cathleen said, and then pulled out a .45 and shot off 5 rounds to the face of the Englishmen, there were only two left and they bolted off in their own bulletproof carriage.

"We ridin' dirty, homies!" O.G. Cathleen shouted with a smile in her voice as she shot off in her pimped out carriage after them.

There was a high action intense drive by goin' on in both parties at this point, down Ballyhara's driveway, soon closing in on Father Columns shit shack. The English doucherags caught O.G. Cathleen's bottom bitch in the arm, blowing a hole clear through.

"AHH HELL NAHH! BITCH YOU GONNA DIIEEE!" O.G. Cathleen raged, as she pulled out a shotgun from her hidden case over her shoulder, and with one swift boom shot off the arms of the carriage driver.

It reared off into the ditch, crashing with a thunderous thud and a massive explosion; thus bursting it into flames. The last main Englishman caught ablaze and managed to walk slowly out of the flames, on his last breath, he cursed O.G. Cathleen's name, until the words, "I told you bitch, no one fucks with mah homies" rang out and she blew his fancy little head clean off his shoulders. And with that, she was reigning high, while they patched up O.G. Cathleen's bottom bitch, she was back baby, and they'd never be in the rears again.


	11. RuuRie, Ruu Rorld!

Chapter Eleven: Ruu-Rie, Ruu Rorld!

On the other side of Ireland, in the dead of night, Rattail was trying to fall asleep. Mustache and Butthoarder were off on business this night so she had more time to reflect on her thoughts instead of listening to their snoring for half the night. For the last few weeks Mustache had barely even looked at Rattail, never giving her that seductive side glance, never pinching her cute, little, hairy Rattail ass, and never waking her up in the middle of the night so he could rub one out. She couldn't understand what was wrong and why he was treating her that way. What had she done? What had she ever done to anyone? And then there was that night.

Only two nights ago, in the wee hours of the morning she caught Mustache coming into their room. He was disheveled, slumping when he walked, clearly drunk, and then on the collar of his little, Mustache shoulder she saw it…lipstick! She eyed him quietly, spotting that it was of the Marion Berry variety and her temper flared.

That son of a bitch, that son of a bitch was cheating on **her, **Anne's Rattail Mustache Butler, for some god damn slutty pie that would let anyone put their finger in them for the right price. She puffed up in outright modesty and squeaked when he lay down on the bed.

"Ruu Ra Ru Reen?" she scolded, waggling her Rattail finger at him with contempt.

"Rout", he replied, smoothing back his fur and trying to close his eyes to shut her out.

"Ri Red, Ru Ra Ru Reen?" she insisted, letting her voice turn naggy.

"Rout", he snapped, turning to her, his eyes showing he was just as mad as she was.

Rattail couldn't keep it in; she went off on a tangent, accusing him of everything in the book, telling him what a shameless, inconsiderate jerk-off, telling him that she wished she had never laid her Rattaily eyes on him.

When she was finished Mustache stared at her quietly, his eyes still blazing. All of a sudden she heard a crack and her cheek stung violently. He had slapped her. He really had slapped her. Mustache turned away and went to bed. Rattail cried.

So now as Rattail sat in bed, thinking about her life and her marriage, she decided to do it. Rattail mustered all her strength and dragged Anne to her vanity, searching through the drawers for a pair of scissors. She found some and pulled them out, staring at herself in the mirror, holding the scissors attentively. She considered what she was about to do and knew there was no going back…but she didn't give a fiddler's fart.

"Ruu-Rie, Ruu Rorld", Rattail stated, with as much Shakespearean drama that her voice could muster. "Ratting Es Ruch Reet Rorrow", then she held the scissors to her neck and snipped them shut.


	12. Scorlett's Royal NipSlip

**AN: Thanks for the fans who really appreciate this story, you guys are awesome! More to come! Drop a review, graciasssss!**

Chapter 12: Scorlett's Royal Nip-Slip

The following few weeks, Mustache racked with guilt, spent most of his nights separated, sitting in lonesome sorrow with fur in hand at the lonely café. Rhett appeared unaffected by the whole thing and Anne somehow managed to loose half her memories, therefore feeling no sadness. Life continued on for Rhett and Anne, they grew even closer without having interference in their love life due to Mustache and Rat Tails constant bickering. One night while Butthoarder slept and Anne snored loudly, Mustache decided it was time to get his happy back. He felt guilty beyond all repair until the soothing thought of one, desirable creature intervened. Yes, Marionberry, her luscious purple berries plump and taught, those flowing juices that never seemed to end, that dark mystery that surrounded the most amazing scent. Ahhh Marionberry, you haunt Mustache's very soul with lust and dare I say it...love?

The clock struck midnight after Anne and Rhett decided to sleep in separate bedrooms, on account of a roaring butt trumpet escaping from the tight cheeks of Butthoarder. He detached himself slowly and carefully, peeling his thick black furs away, hopped off the bed to the vanity which he hadn't visited since Rat Tails…incident. He checked himself out and fixed a few stray hairs, trimmed himself up nice and clean so that five o clock shadow look was gone. He looked good, dare I say, handsome and full of life once more, until a shimmer caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, a piece of Rat Tail, just laying there. Horror consumed Mustache, his heart raced and a sick feeling filled his mustachey tummy.

"Oh why god, why is this happening to me... I deserve to move on!"

He fell back off the vanity, dizzy and struck with terror.

"I deserve a better life!" He thought.

He was having doubts of going out tonight, until the scent of smoke and Marionberries filled the air.

He turned around to see Marionberry sitting there in the moonlight, her quellizaire stuck diagonally into her side, smoking a fine French woman's cigarette. She looked at him and his heart melted, this was the new chapter to his life. She was the one to ease his broken guilt stricken, not so inanimate, inanimate object heart. He slowly stood up and walked over to her, her crust layers were especially even tonight, she winked and he blushed. Mustache invited her to go on a romantic midnight stroll through the park, and she agreed, laying a big ole pie kiss on him, the purple stained his prickly hairs, and in that moment, he knew life could only get better from here. The pieces of pie in his stache later that night would be an indicator that they had quite the time together, and Mustache showed her all he got, dubbing him the New Lord Fenton of the face.

Marionberry and he spent a lot of time together after that, he was so happy, finally happy again and that's how he intended to keep it, let's just hope things work out for the two new lovers.

* * *

><p>Scorlett O'Hara Butthoarder had earned a name as a badass in the county, after the whole ripping a baby out of some dyke's stomach incident, and was enjoying her new status as a badass <em>and<em> the O'Hara. She was seeing Lord Fenton regularly now, they made passionate, mind blowing sex every night since her return to Ballyhara and she loved every minute of it. Lord Fenton was the man, and the woodpecker, that she needed to console herself over the fact that the one buttchined man she had ever loved was married and boinking another closeted homosexual. It was simply too much to bear so she put all of her frustrated sexual tension into pleasing Lord Fenton with her…skills. To say it frankly, she was a lady on the streets and a freak in the bed.

One night, after some feverish lovemaking, Scorlett lay in Lord Fenton's strong, caring arms and sighed deeply…then let a wet one rip. Lord Fenton gave a chuckle and Scorlett acted like she didn't notice.

"Oh, Richard, I want to go on a trip somewhere, anyway, I just want to get away from here".

Lord Fenton nodded and reached for a cigarette and lit it with a match, popping it into his mouth and taking a long drag on it. Scorlett thought he looked like such a sex god.

"I know. I'm going to Dublin soon to meet the Viceroy of Ireland, no reason really, just felt like dressing up and showing off how strong my pimp hand has become since I last visited", Lord Fenton then took the cigarette out of his mouth and then burned it out onto Scorlett's nipple with a devilish smile.

Scorlett waggled her eyebrow and resisted the urge not to jump on him then and there.

"I'd love to go", she cooed, "as long as you give Mama a little more sugah".

Lord Fenton smirked and blew out the candle, giving Scorlett a purple-nurple as she giggled in delight.

* * *

><p>Eleanor Butthoarder, wasn't getting any younger. Those massive meals she continued to make weren't filling anyone's tum-tum these days, except the trash's.<p>

She treasured the fun times she had with Sally, making crocheted pictures and hand towels, cooking sausages and giving her advice in bed, but where was her own love life heading? Better yet, where had it been? Eleanor was a woman of mature years, much like that of Mrs. Fitzpatrick (but we'll get to her in a little while), she had so many lovers back when she was a hot young thang on the streets of Charleston. In her prime she satisfied 10 men at a time, and could make a man shiver with a single look, and a flash of those she-lumps strapped tightly in by an over the shoulder boulder holder push up made them nearly faint. Yes it was time once more, to create an in paper dating profile.

**Name**: Eleanor Butthoarder

**Nick Name**: Ellie Rompshaker

**Age**: I forget

**Height**: 5'4"

**Weight**: a couple buckets of sausage mhmmm

**What you are looking for in a mate**: I am looking for someone who shares the same love for sausages, and various breakfast foods. Someone who doesn't have a drinking problem, like I used to have, mhmmm and oh, my goodness, I would love to have a man with an appendage the size of my favorite black sausage! Mhmmm…yes. Other than that I don't care, someone full of spirit and who can keep up with me in the marital sorts, you know, the bedroom. Mhmm okay my mailing address is as follows. Thank youu. –Eleanor Butthoarder.

The following weeks mail flooded in, men of all types ages and freak numbers. Eleanor was so excited to start dating again, it was just a matter of who she chose first.

"Hmmm let's see here, how about a Donald Carter, age is 58 not bad. Ohh my, what about Stewart McDermont, age 26, says he's lookin' for a good time, well that sounds nice."

Sifting through she finally made a decision, and was to be on a date the following evening.

* * *

><p>It was the day that Scorlett and Lord Fenton were off to meet the Viceroy of Ireland. Scorlett put on her fanciest dress (aka the most over-embellished piece of fabric she could find in her massive closet full of other over-embellished pieces of fabric.) Scorlett chose a low-cut, red dress, exposing her juicy fun-bags which she hoped would surely impress the Earl and the Viceroy, deciding sneakily that if he wanted a midnight romp she would oblige him.<p>

Scorlett waited in the hall as the cheesy brass band began signaling her to start her strut into the room. She burst through the doors, her bug eyes blazing and her gremlin smile shining. Most people looked away from her, even though they were used to the dirty Irish and the bad-teethed British, Scorlett was almost too much for them to look at. An all together new type of beast.

She strutted down the furry, red carpet, her head high in the sky. She stopped just in front of the Viceroy and prepared for her dramatic curtsy. She swept down real low and then swooped up again, her eyes closed and her smile wide.

All of a sudden she felt a draft on her Yum-Yums and she looked down. Her left knocker was hanging out for all to see, Scorlett was horrified and then realized she couldn't move. A nip-slip, and at a place like this! Damn her luck!

The Viceroy's eye patch suddenly fell off and his eye and he became infected with the "Tex Avery Syndrome", along with various classic sound effects accompanying his retinas as they bulged out of his sockets.

Scorlett quickly covered her melons and ran out of the room sobbing. Lord Fenton ran up to the Viceroy to apologize for Scorlett, but the Viceroy drew him close and whispered in his ear, "When can she be made available?"


	13. Column's Hibernation

**AN: Getting pretty good, eeyyyy? ;p**

Chapter 13: Column's Hibernation

While Column was tending to his chickens, resisting the urge not to eat one whole, the thoughts of Rhett were driving him crazy. Now a member of weight watchers, Column was not eating 9 meals a day and no more children so his moods became almost unbearable, he had to isolate himself from the outside world until he could get it under control. This meant no more false preaching, no more gunrunning, and no more children and potato salads.

He sat down exhausted and huffing from fighting the will to devour everything in his path, which in turn made the thoughts of Butthoarder send him into a hot rage. He grabbed a chicken and threw it against his shed, when it popped out two whole eggs that just made him angrier.

"My life is so, so empty without food, without love, without guns..." He began. "Everyday it's somethin' else, no matter how hard I try, Scorlett will not love me and this hideous face, what have I done to deserve such a fate?"

Column was fearful of the early stages of insanity he'd began to succumb too. It was only a matter of time, in this state, that he'd be engulfed into sheer madness. He could feel the drops of sweat slide down his unnaturally bumpy face, and drip off that thrice broken nose.

"Good lord in heaven, help me, help me, HELP ME!" He shouted falling to his knees, as his curly q's moaned in great distress (they hadn't been washed in a week) and the grease was starting to also drive them crazy.

What would Column come to now in his very own psych ward? All he knew is that he wanted to kick his old, bad habits for not only Scorlett, but for his savior in heaven, I mean at this rate he'd never get in through those pearly gates in the sky. The life of a crooked priest was a hard one, but his will mighty as it might be, was breaking him down slowly, it would only be a few more days without the tender taste of children in his gullet until he couldn't stand it anymore.

He fell onto the ground curled up in the fetal position, his stomach roaring with anger and desperation. The chickens fled the coop thinking rolling thunder was comin' closer, until he just let it out. Column cried like a gigantic overgrown infant, sounds that of a 7 month old baby came screeching out of his throat, and at this last cry, he fell into hibernation.

Meanwhile in Dublin, Scorlett was sitting in the lobby with some tea and crumpets in her hands, her teacup steaming on the table. All of a sudden Butthoarder strolled in and asked to speak with her.

Thank God Lord Fenton is busy today, Scorlett thought to herself, yet somehow getting turned on at the prospect of the two having a hot, sweaty man-fight over her.

Scorlett was escorted out of the hotel by Rhett; she threw on her rug and was ready to go. They strolled around the hotel's garden just idly chatting.

"How long do you have left here in Ireland, Rhett?"

"Not long, perhaps a week or so".

Hmmm, Scorlett thought, suddenly eyeing Rhett's pert ass, the way it sashayed enticingly around in his tight pants.

"How is Mustache?" Scorlett asked suddenly, noticing that he was absent from Rhett's face.

"Oh, well sadly he is grieving at the moment; he hasn't felt like his old self and doesn't really want to be around other people. He was always a proud 'stache, you know?"

"Grieving for whom?"

"Anne's Rattail".

Scorlett gave him an odd look.

"Long story", Rhett said sadly.

"And how is Anne?" Scorlett said smugly, hoping Anne was still in pain over her lost child.

"She's doing fine, I put another bun in her oven already", he grinned.

Scorlett cursed under her breath. I should have ripped out her ovaries too, she thought.

"Oh really? How wonderful…but riddle me this, Butthoarder?" Why did you come, why did you? WHY DID YOU COME?" Suddenly Scorlett turned on her waterworks and her lips trembled.

Butthoader was taken aback and let his mouth hang open wide, "Duhhhhhh".

"WAHHH!" Scorlett screamed, running away from Butthoarder and leaving him stunned at just what an unpredictable weirdo she was.

She ran back to her hotel, and immediately called for Lord Fenton, hoping his secret errands would soon be finished. She took a bath, crying while she drew the water and when she read a vampire romance novel in the tub. She cried loudly hoping someone would notice and feel sorry for her, but of course, no one came.

Later that evening, Lord Fenton rode into town like a bat out of hell in his dark, man carriage, sporting a deep navy suit and diamond encrusted pimp cane, knocking poor Irish peasants out of the way and throwing them under the wheels at any given chance. He smelled of sweat, vodka and women, but none of which seemed to bother Scorlett, whom just thought from the beginning that was his Ralph Lauren Polo #7 cologne.

With a swift half knock on her hotel room Scorlett reached out and grabbed his suit tight pulled him in fiercely. So ensued the vigorous work out that was their lovemaking. They rolled and leapt and screamed and moaned the alphabet of tantric sex. Fenton got to beat her with his pimp cane and he could tell by how she let him do his favorite pony role-play that she was letting off steam from earlier that day.

"What's wrong Scorlett?" Fenton asked casually as he thrusted his man candy into her lady locker.

"I don't know some-THIN-slow down you beast-I just can't quite put into words, just HAVE-ing an off day."

"NEIGH YOU DIRTY SLUT!"

She neighed and snorted like a pony while he full forcedly jumped onto her back, weighing her down as he forced her to trot around the bedchamber.

"I'm just tired I guess" She panted, tired from the heavy load that was Fenton on her back.

"Well you seem quite distraught this evening, you hardly ever let me play pony, YAH! FASTER!" He spanked her with his cane.

She ran around in a small circle for a minute until he stopped her to feed her a carrot.

"Uh-uh, now pony, watch the fingers." Then she collapsed onto the floor. He patted her and they briefly discussed his eventful evening of being such a P.I.M.P and enjoying a glass of vodka or two with his buddy from London before he came over. She sighed and he beckoned her onto the bed.

"Now let's play dirty inexperienced nurse." He winked.


	14. The Fitz & Patoots

***AN: Thanks to our loyal fans, you get a new character today, yay! :D Please tell us what you think and if you like it, alert it!**

**Chapter 14: The Fitz & Patoots**

In the meantime Ms. Fitzpatrick, Scorlett's new housekeeper at Ballyhara, was getting everything in place for when her mistress would be arriving home. Ms. Fitzpatrick was a woman of mature years and applicable knowledge of all things house related. She had recently been hired at Ballyhara by Column's good graces, and she couldn't have been more overjoyed about that fact. When she heard that the mistress of Ballyhara was a woman to be celebrated, with big, bug eyes and sharp, shiny teeth…not to mention a nice rack…Ms. Fitz clearly remembered feeling a shiver run down her spine.

Ever since Ms. Fitz was a small lass, a distant cousin of Sally Brewton's, she knew she was different…and since she discovered that fact, she fancied herself a closet homosexual, except she wasn't…well, closet that is. To everyone in the outside world of Ms. Fitz's mind, she was just Ms. Fitzpatrick, that old, dyke who happened to resemble the terminator for some odd reason.

So it was on this day that Ms. Fitzpatrick was standing in Scorlett's empty bedroom, thinking about just how seductive her mistress really was. Ohh, her mistress, how she loved to think of her in that way. Ms. Fitz gave a bashful smile. She surveyed the room, making mental notes of just where to put the new furniture she had shipped in just for her mistress.

"Drawers there, curtains here…and ohh, a big, giant bed right here", Ms. Fitz grinned to herself, moving over to the middle of the room where she envisioned a massive, wooden bed.

Ever since she arrived here and Scorlett asked her to order new furniture for the house, Ms. Fitzpatrick knew that she would sneak in a colossal, dark wood bed into her room…big enough for at least five people to sleep in…or perhaps do other things in. Once the bed was in she would make her move and finally get the woman who had bewitched her for so long. Ms. Fitz grinned again and turned to leave the room…not even aware that 100 or so miles away the woman she had lusted after since she got to Ballyhara was getting her brains boinked out of her by an English devil.

Scorlett stumbled in through the door around 5 am that morning, she was tired; beat (literally) and wanted nothing to do with a growing baby in the house, wandering the halls, god knew where she was now. Her little Catherine had gotten loose from her playpen one day while Mrs. Fitz was making lunch and Scorlett was busy bangin' at the Earls. When they searched for her only child, little baby babbles echoed off those haunted walls…they have yet to discover her whereabouts, but she seems to be doing fine, that fat little doll seems to be running around everywhere, so they just make sure to leave trails of cheeses and various snack foods around. After each failed baby trap they left, consisting of a trail of applesauce dollops and m&m's into a large dog kennel, they decided she'd come back when she was ready, and left it at that.

Around 11a.m. Mrs. Fitz made her way up the stairs into Scorlett's bedroom, having herself a little giggle of excitement when she saw she got to wake her 'sleeping beauty'. She quickly fixed the loose hairs of her bun and straightened her tattered shit colored dress. Slowly she crept like a tiger stalking it's prey to Scorletts bed, running her fingers along Scorletts rough face, stroking her hair and then takin' in a long breath, "Mmmm", she thought to herself, "such an angel".

Scorlett suddenly stirred out of her sleep, her eyes still closed as she felt small kisses being run along her face and neck.

"Lord Fenton?" she thought, "What is he doing here? It's Thursday, our day off…well, can't stop the Earl when he wants some lovin', can I? I swear this guy was heart broken at some ridiculously early age or something".

Scorlett opened her eyes in what she thought was a quite seductive manner, and was surprised to see Ms. Fitz leaning over her, running her lips slowly along her face, still unaware that Scorlett had awoken. Scorlett laid there in silence, her mind completely blown at what was going on. Surely she was dreaming, surely she was...how could she not be?

"Shh, shh, sweet, shh. Its ok, Mama's here now, angel. Shhhh", Ms. Fitz bestowed more small kisses upon Scorlett, still unaware that her mistress was awake.

Scorlett's eyes bulged, yet her body was rigid, still frozen from the unbelievably creepy things that were happening to her at that moment.

"Ms. Fitz is here, sweety, Ms. Fitz is here. Shhh, shh, calm yourself, your big mama is here to love you. Shh, now, shh", Ms. Fitz whispered, caressing Scorlett's thick locks.

"Ms. Fitz", Scorlett finally managed to squeak. "Ms. Fitz, whatever are you doing?"

A big, wet smooch was given to her earlobe.

"Ms. Fitz!" she yelled in alarm.

The kisses and caresses stopped and Ms. Fitz slowly rose to her full height again, her eyes wide and almost as buggy as Scorlett's. She slowly backed away and then gave a little cough into her hand.

"Ohh, Mrs. Butthoader-uh-well, I just wanted to tell you that breakfast was ready", Ms. Fitz gave a little bow and then left the room.

Scorlett was still on the bed, her mind racing fast for the first time in a long while. She clapped her hand to her head and said to herself, "God almighty…is that what they call those lesbian people?"

It was Butthoarder and Anne's anniversary; they'd made it almost two years and couldn't wait to celebrate, especially with a new baby on the way. Anne, now 3 months preggerz, was glowing and gloating over her new shiny fetus. They celebrated with a home cooked feast for 100 people, prepared by Eleanor of course. She spent 4 whole days pounding and tenderizing meat then mixing unlimited ingredients. Champagne and wine, cider and the finest brewskis available were served, while Rhett monitored an old recovering alcoholic Eleanor, smacking the glass of wine out of her hands and spilling all over her dress more than a couple times that evening. Telling her it was the blood of one of her victims she mercilessly killed when she forgot how the stain got there was one of Butthoarder's favorite tricks; he loved to watch her panic and squirm swearing she'd never do such a thing.

A few weeks had passed since arriving home in Charleston with Anne. Mustache was off with Marionberry most of the days now, Rhett began to miss him, but couldn't say he hated the fact he awoke to pie crumbs and juices in his stache most of the days. The thoughts and memories coagulated in Butthoarder's mind, the thoughts of Scorlett. Her name rang in his ears and in his timid toots that he sought to hide from Anne so much.

He was out that evening, enjoying some quality time with Mustache, forcing his white horse from Ireland to run around it's corral while he watched in amusement.

"It's so beautiful isn't it?" He said to Mustache, his eyes glazed over like a krispy cream doughnut.

"BruBruuh?" Mustache asked completely stumped as to what Rhett was talking about.

Butthoarder's face was different, it seemed lopsided and dreamy, his mouth turned into a giant stupid smile and his mind was obviously off in space. He didn't even hear Mustache's question, all he could do was envision Scorlett. She was dressed in a flowing, white, sheer gown, with skinny fluffy white boas draped around her neck and trailing behind her. She was riding bareback, her jugs bouncing to the trot, the image of her straddling the white stallion just gave Butthoarder the biggest most raging boner of his life, and that's when Anne woke up.

Anne flipped over in the bed, laying her hand on the other side of the mattress, expecting Butthoader to be there…he wasn't. Anne lifted her body up and looked around the dark room. Butthoarder and Mustache weren't there. She scratched her head and then the most foul, horrid smell floated to her nostrils. The smell of a thousand rotten eggs, a sulfer mine, and that terrible, terrible scent of that cow Scorlett was now freely floating around in Anne's sinus. She got out of the bed and stomped down the hall and to the stairs outside the house. She plopped down, gasping for fresh air, clutching at her chest. She was sure if she had to smell that stank anymore it would surely kill the fetus nesting in her womb.

"Anne", she heard Butthoarder's voice float into her ears. Anne looked up and then all of a sudden remembered why she had gone outside in the first place. To yell at her husband.

"What are you doing out here? You're going to catch your death of cold", he reprimanded her, Mustache looking equally as concerned. Rhett walked over to her and helped Anne up. Then all of a sudden he did it.

A rip-roaring, panty burping, turd honker fired out of his badonkadonk, sending Mustache into tremors of laughter.

"Ruuud Run", he giggled.

"Sorry, dearest", Butthoader apologized, leading Anne into the house, away from his atomic stinker, her eyes blazing.

"We need to talk…NOW!" she roared.

A god awful smelly trail secreted out of his moneymaker as he made the way back to their bedroom behind Anne. His shoulders felt heavy and his heart sank. He knew he had a big screaming woman party to attend, and he was the only RSVP. When he made it to the room Anne was sitting on the trunk with a gas mask strapped to her face, while she was spraying the room with a jumbo can of fartaway, the windows open wide (oh what's this-they were actually broken out permanently) and 4 tablets of beano next to Rhett's side of the bed.

He sulked over to the trunk next to Mrs. Hampton Butthoarder, fuming she started in on him, in what came out to be a Darth Vader voice with the morbid sounding slow gasps in between.

"RHETT, I can't do this anymore, I mean we've gone over this farting business the first day we met. Remember?"

"Yeah I remember, at mothers arts n' crafts club, you shunned me for farting in the middle of tea time after I brought her that ole' tea service of hers...you know that's a fake right?"

"YES I KNOW!" Anne shouted, and shot upright, while a morose sounding gasp followed, leaking from her gas mask.

"I have a feeling this isn't just about my pant friendly gasses, this evening," Rhett said as he eyed her. She then took off her gas mask and took a little breath, finding the air suitable she threw the mask casually out one of the broke out windows behind her and sat down next to Butthoarder.

"You're right... It's not about the farts tonight, it's about Scorlett."

"Scorlett? What are you talkin' 'bout girl?"

"You said Scorlett in your sleep last night, Scorlett just like that!" She broke free from his grasp and awkward sexual advances.

A breeze floated in from outside, carrying the abundance of endless gasses that excreted from Butthoarder earlier that night, right back in.

"I don't talk in my sleep" He said thoughtfully.

"Guess only when you got something important to say!" Anne yelled, the anger building more and more with the other irritation of patoots now back in her bedroom. She furiously waved the smell away.

Butthoarder sat dumbly by himself for a minute until he pulled Anne back down to sit with him while he made sure to point out how much he loved her. They kissed and Mustache left purple juices all over her face, making somewhat of a kool-aid stained mini-mustache on a happy Mrs. Hampton Butthoarder. The rest of the evening was spent in blissful slumber, while Mustache slid off Rhett's face and went back into the night.


	15. Eleanor's Engagement & Fitz's Nightmare

**AN: The plot thickens! Say whaaaatttt? **

Chapter 15: Eleanor's Engagement & Ms. Fitz's Nightmare

Eleanor was both relieved and stressed because of her son and his wife's return. After they made her make them a 100 person dinner for just the three of them, Eleanor was ready to go to bed, but not before reading the post.

Eleanor excused herself for bed, but not after serving Rhett his scotch and lemon cookies, and cuddled up by the fireplace in her squishy, reclining, rocking chair. She sifted through some bills, one or two love letters to Mustache (she'd read those later) and finally found a letter addressed to herself. Eleanor gave a delighted squeak and tore at the letter. She never got mail, "So this is what it feels like", she thought happily to herself.

The envelope opened to reveal a few pieces of paper sticking out, all written in beautiful handwriting. A response to her want ad in the paper! Eleanor squealed and furiously read the letter.

"Hello Eleanor,

I have read your ad in the want paper last week and I found myself drawn to your public notice. From what I read you're a recovering alcoholic? If that is true, we have something in common there, I was briefly addicted by the drink myself when my wife passed, but now I think I've kicked the habit for good. I like tea now. And I'm proud of you for doing so as well, I know this sounds foolish since we've never met, but like I said, I feel an odd connection with you. You said you enjoy gardening? So do I! I used to have a beautiful plantation, before the war, and we were famed for our gardens, alas they don't survive now, but perhaps you'd still like to visit one day…that is if we get together. I find your soul to be kind, and from what you said it sounds like you are quite the mother. I find a woman being a good wife a very good quality, I have a son of my own, as I believe you stated you had one as well, and perhaps we could arrange a play date between the two if you should decide to accept my offer of a date. Well, sorry this is such a short letter, but I am rather strapped for time as I run a sawmill given to me by an old friend. If you're interested in my offer please write me back at my address listed above. Thank you again!"

-Ashley Wilkes

Eleanor finished the letter and laid it down in her lap.

"Hmmmm, Ashley, why does that name sound so familiar. Hmm, well I might as well give it a shot, I'm sure Rhett will be delighted", and with that Eleanor passed out in her chair.

* * *

><p>Lord Fenton and Scorlett were 'caught up' at that moment, well, Scorlett was, it was a brisk Friday night, and Scorlett was hanging from the rafters of her Balleyhara mansion. She was strung up in a black leather harness while the Fenton was using a riding crop to spin her in circles and spank her fat Irish tush.<p>

The Earl was wearing a zorro mask and ball gag in his mouth, some shiny leather chaps and a huge red speedo, all the while she'd hit him in the face with a royally sized rubber friend. They engaged in 'Freaky Fridays' at full force; a zest for life accompanied such a disturbing scene. The spanks and shouts of a sick twisted 1800's pleasure palace ignited curiosity, naturally, in the hearts of those who worked for the naughty mistress. It was that night that Mrs. Fitz would never forget.

While searching for a good spot to put dinner leftovers out for little Catherine to find, Mrs. Fitz heard the final spank of the evening, she couldn't help it, she had to see if Scorlett was alright. She had knowledge of her mistress' extensive dildo collection hidden within her hatboxes and this pleased and excited a creeper like Mrs. Fitz. But what she was about to see that night would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Wandering up the stairs she could feel her heartbeat rapidly in her chest, "this must be what it feels like to touch that beautiful creature.

"Ahh I have a feeling tonight's gonna be the night!" she thought out loud, catching the attention of a kitchen maid who in turn gave a weirded out look and scurried off.

As she crept closer to the door of Scorlett's bedchamber, the noises grew louder and more alarming. There was what sounded like balloons being popped and chains rattling, sounds of monkeys and barking, bed post creaks and even…cigarettes being put out? She peaked through the keyhole and saw Scorlett's legs dangling from the ceiling and a blur of colorful plastic…was that stuffed animals? One more spank and Mrs. Fitz had to see what all the fuss was about, she flung the door open with a: "Scorlett, I knew you felt the sa-!" and there before her was the most horrifying and confusing scene ever to be held. There, was a half naked man in a speedo and ball gag spinning and spanking a bugged eyed Scorlett in a horse harness, reconstructed for people, dangling from the ceiling. A miniature mountain of inflatable animals fashioned into a fort around Fenton fizzed out of air as she stepped in.

Fenton grabbed a pickle out of the jar at his feet and bit into it with an unusually loud crunch, while Scorlett turned off the animal kingdom noises with her feet.

"Why Mrs. Fitz, care to join?" Lord Fenton asked with a smirk on his face.

"Oh my lord…I-I-I'm so SORRY!" Mrs. Fitz yelled in terror as she ran from the room."

"LORD FENTON! Must you make your presence known in my bedroom! We're not man and wife!" And with that, Scorlett unchained herself falling 4 feet down with a thud, and slapped The Earl in his smug hot face.

"You sure have a bit of a temper, don't you?" He said as he then went for a full on boob grab. She playfully tried to stop him before giving into his pervy charms, and thus the making out began…again.

* * *

><p>Ms. Fitz ran outside Ballyhara into the cool, night air. She ran and ran and ran and ran, not caring how far away she had gotten from the house. She wanted to get away; she didn't want to face her fear or rejection head on…not just yet anyway. She couldn't believe what she had seen, but no matter what she had witnessed, she hadn't given up her dream of Scorlett, not yet anyway. Her angel would be hers; she'd just have to get rid of that damn English scallywag somehow.<p>

Ms. Fitz ran to Column's house, suddenly realizing that the good father had been gone for some time now, yet no one really seemed to give two shits about his absence. Well she cared now; she needed Column's help because she knew he would do something about Lord Fenton. She banged on his creaky door three times and then it fell in. Ms. Fitz shrugged and walked in and immediately covered her nose.

It smelled like rotten death. Dirty clothes, dishes and half eaten Jenny Craig boxes were on the floor, waiting to be taken over by bacteria. The hut was dark and dank, but she could just make out the little hub with her Terminator eyes. There were scattered magazines of sexy playboy bunnies role-playing as priests, Ms. Fitz picked those up and decided to keep them for herself, and dozens of half eaten doughnuts scattered across the floor. Apparently Column had thought better about eating them, then went back to start a new doughnut just minutes later, hungering for the false high they gave him. Suddenly she heard a grunt. It must be Column.

She fumbled around in the darkness for a bit and stumbled upon a pile of heaving blankets. Column was passed out on the floor, snuggled in dozens of blankets, his double chins all squished together to keep warm. He looked like a sleeping ogre with his mouth hanging wide open, small droplets of drool stringing out. He was snoring and snorting, his nose half stuffed up, and every few minutes let a big, fat, juicy one rip. Ms. Fitz winced at how disgusting he was, but shook him violently, praying to God he would wake. Finally he stirred.

"Column, I must ask a great favor of you?" she whispered.


	16. Column's Ressurection

**AN: Thought we were gone? Ohhh noo, not even a chance, we have way more story where this came from! Drop a review, much appreciated!**

Chapter 16: Column's Ressurection

He woke groggily and surprisingly, a lot slimmer. Seems his hibernation did him some good. Slimmer yes, attractive like he hoped? No, not even close.

"Mrs. Fitz what're you doing here?" Column asked as he blindly got up stumbling and knocking down far less objects than he normally would if he hadn't lost the weight.

"I'm in need of a great favor, father," Mrs. Fitz said.

He propped himself against the wall next to the calendar to see that he had engaged in hibernation for 4 months; those powdered doughnuts seemed to have lasted him a lot longer than expected, and he since had missed 48 weight watchers meetings he was surprised how thin he was.

Offering him a seat while he stood on his wobbly newborn horse legs, The Fitz delved into what had happened, the sights she saw, the two of them together, DEAR GOD with an Englishman? It'd be a cold day in hell when Column would let another man tromp around on his terrain, his own lady lumped property! So he devised a plan to rid of Lord Fenton for good.

The Fitz and Column sat around his messy table in true secretive style, their heads tucked together as they whispered devious and ungodly plans together. The candlelight shone off their faces and made Column and The Fitz's wrinkles even more evident then they already were.

"So, the good Earl lives in a huge mansion on the other side of town. He is supposed to live there alone, but you never know when he'll have a whore there to satisfy his never ending hungry loins. If a whore is with him Column, I hate to say this", though Ms. Fitz didn't sound like she hated to say it, "then you must kill her too. We don't want any witnesses".

Column nodded in agreement like the follower he was.

"Next, once you get into the house, which is always open, at least so says your slutty half-niece Mary, I'll discuss her soul with you later, go up the stairs and wait for him in his study".

Column didn't even look alarmed; he just nodded and stroked his double chins.

"Go sit in his spiny chair and then when you hear him come through the door you spin around with your arms crossed looking all badass and shit. Then you two have some witty banter, you threaten him, draw your gun and say 'If you don't leave Scorlett alone I'm afraid I'm going to have to use this'. That should scare the old Earl! And if he refuses to leave her alone, shoot him…and leave the body to me", she said almost evilly.

"Great, great".

"Sound like a plan, Column?"

"Yes, and an awesome one at that".

The following night Column prepared to put his and The Fitz's plans into action; he got dressed in his most badass priest robes and doofus oversized cowboy hat. He stopped by her place around 11pm making sure she'd be over shortly after the "accident" to dispose of the body a little after midnight. She agreed menacingly as she slinked backwards closing the door in Column's face. He mounted his steed, and it neighed in relief, remembering how hard lugging that fatass around used to be, although he was still heavy, the 260 pound man put a strain on the old horse's back. He arrived at Fenton Hall right on time, he should've been getting back from a romp with Mary shortly, giving Column just enough time to get to The Earl's spinney chair and set up his scary gun tactic before the big bang.

He scurried like a bug up the stairs, and into Fenton's giant prized chair where he had plotted many a murder in his time. Just as Column sat down, Lord Fenton walked nonchalantly in on him, he was behind Column the whole time noticing the gun in his robe pockets peeking out with disregard. Column span around and in the blink of an eye his whole plan backfired, just as their faces met, Lord Fenton was standing across from the desk with a gun pointed straight at his head and in a matter of seconds-BOOM! Column was shot dead, right in the middle of his fat greasy forehead.

Fenton then cleaned his gun with a rag out of his breast pocket, placed it neatly in Column's hand, scribbled a sloppy suicide note' like he'd done countless times before with his foes, threw it carelessly on top of Column's lifeless bloody body, and descended to his lounge room to play a quick game of pinball before going to sleep.

The clock struck midnight and as planned Mrs. Fitz sneaked quietly up the Lords stairs to grab his body, only to find…

"AHH! My god he killed himself!" She screamed, she shakily picked up the note off his leaner yet still bulging body and read:

'Dear friends and family,

I decided to kill myself because I'm fat and ugly; no one likes me, and Lord Fentons awesome. Don't bother burying me; just throw me in a ditch somewhere, or whatever. –Column'

"Mrs. Fitz cried a single wet tear, and turned terminator to take care of business, after all, she being a hardcore badass lesbian, didn't need those petty woman feelings, she liked to show her manly side and this was a for instance that it would come in handy.

She flexed her pecks, her quads and her gluts then lifted the dead priest above her head, hauling him down the stairs and out to her carriage. Hitching Columns half dead horse to her rickety old ride, she led the way out in the middle of nowhere, where she headed his last words. There, she dragged his limp body out to the ledge of the ditch and heaved it over the side, watching as it bounced jiggled and tumbled down to rot in peace, just like he wanted. Then she was on her way, never to think of her old friend again.


	17. Dates, Poofballs and Carcuses

**AN: Hello, our loyal readers, nice to have you with us again! Sorry for no update in a long time, been busy with school and just generally haven't felt like editing too much. Sorry, if any of these are sort of sloppy, but perhaps that makes them funny? Not sure. Anyway, I hope this is a long enough update and that you enjoy it. Drop us a comment, alert, or favorite. You know what to do ;D**

Chapter 17: Dates, Poofballs and Carcuses

Eleanor Butthoarder was all dolled up for her date. She hadn't been on a proper date for at least fifty years, but she was as giddy as a young schoolgirl on her first outing this very evening. She hadn't bothered to tell Rhett or Anne where she was really going tonight, she knew that they wouldn't understand…Rhett might even be jealous of the idea of a new man of the house, of course assuming her and this Ashley fellow got along. She told them that she was going shopping, though why they believed she'd be going shopping so late in the night was a mystery to her…perhaps they just wanted the house to themselves.

Eleanor fixed her grey hair in the mirror, puckering her old, fishy lips and even daring to put a tad bit of rogue on her sagging cheeks. She wanted to be a hot Mama for her hot Papa tonight…and she just knew he'd be a hot Papa, how could he not if his name was Ashley? Eleanor backed away from the mirror to observe her whole body. She tsked at herself and shook her head.

"I wish it was the summer of '23 again", she muttered to herself, rubbing her wrinkly, old hands on her flat bottom. "How is Mama ever gonna get some sugah looking like this?" She puckered her lips again and leaned forward toward to expose her cleavage to her pretend beefcake looking at her through the mirror.

"Wrinkly, old prunes", she yelled at her Droopy Snoopies, nearly bursting into tears at the thought of how plump and perky they were once. "I just hope Ashley Wilkes likes his hot Mamas…COLD!" She wailed, throwing herself onto her bed and crying into the covers. All of a sudden she heard the doorbell. Eleanor slipped on her dress again with one last look at herself in the mirror, deciding that that was her and that he'd just have to accept it if he didn't like it otherwise.

She ran down to the hall, but Butthoarder was faster.

"Mother, what in Heaven's name are you wearing? You look like Scorlett!"

"HEY! That's not nice, Rhett, I'm going out tonight…"

"Out, what ever do you mean?"

"…it's ok, he has a son too, you can do a play date or something…"

Butthoarder opened the door and gasped when he saw the Moleman himself, Ashley Wilkes, standing there in the threshold holding a box of Eleanor's favorite chocolates and a bouquet of white daises in his hand.

* * *

><p>Just as all hope was lost for Rat Tail, the memories, the talks and the love, Mustache still thought about her every once in a while. The nights of purple passion with Marionberry were another story, but on those rare lonely days, detached and stressed about Scorlett back in the picture, Mustache's mind would wander back to the time when Rat Tail would swoosh; ever so gently in his direction. This day was grey, sad and lonesome for a weary tired Mustache, that night, after a roll in the hay with Marionberry, Mustache rose, tired, and slowly peeled away from the upper lip of the creature that was Butthoarder.<p>

"Where are you off to Mustache? Dinner will be ready in half an hour-RIGHT MOTHER!" Rhett said to Mustache with a loud shout to Eleanor.

"Bru uh." Mustache said indifferently as he hopped off Rhett's face and slugged out the door into the grey sullen dusk. He wandered for a couple hours until he came to the junkyard and saw what could've been the same glimpse of brown that Rat Tail had on the horizon. He perked up for a moment taken aback by what a crazy coincidence this could be. Scurrying up the hillside a moment later he only found a rusted fishing lure in what would have been Rat Tails lower curl.

"BRUU BRUUHH!" He screamed with his scruff's clenched into fists of rage as he kicked a diet coke can off into the distance. Mustache had never felt so defeated in his life, and this wasn't the right time, the right place for him to feel so low. He sat on the curb waiting for a seagull perhaps to come carry him away to better things, and when that didn't happen he cried for the first time.

But little did he know, little did anyone know that meanwhile, just a few blocks away at "Locks Of Love Hair Donation Wig and Toupe' Factory", Rat Tail was being fashioned into a new fluffy wig for an older woman in Ireland. She had ordered a sexy little American wig for her flaky prehistoric scalp, her leftover loose strands blowing softly in the wind atop her cracked crotchety old skull resembled that of a broken spider web. Silken and disgusting. This old woman, yearned for hair that brought out her personality; she went by the name of Katie Scorlett.

The day the wig arrived, Rat Tail was reborn, and so was her lust for vengeance. Rat Tail, who was now referred to as Poofball, in all her fluffy white curly glory, would stop at nothing until Mustache and Marionberry were dead.

* * *

><p>O.G. Cathleen was all smiles as she watched her grandma parade around their small cottage with her new hairpiece atop her gleaming skull. Although she liked her grandma's old woman, balding look, which she always thought her grandma had done as an ode to Biggy Smalls, she thought her grandma looked even better with her uninventive, fluffy, permed old lady's hair. Perhaps this was her trying a new sort of PIMP look, you know, kicking it old school like back in the summer of '84.<p>

"Look, Cathleen", she sang, pointing at the hair on top of her head, "doesn't it just look splendid on me? It's almost like this hairpiece always belonged with me".

"Does", Cathleen agreed, nodding her head and sticking out her lower lip in true O.G. Cathleen style.

All of a sudden a knock on the door came. O.G. Cathleen got up from her gold plated, fur lined PIMP throne and set down her massive, bejeweled PIMP cup that was full of patrone on ice. She went to the door and opened it. A pimply faced, young boy in a post office uniform was standing there with a small wagon full of packages behind him.

"'Ello, Ma'am, I gots a package for ye".

"A package? You must be mistaken, G, my grandma already got her package".

"This is the O'Hara residence, isn't it?"

"Tis".

"And you're…" the boy's face lit up as he read the mailing address, "Wow, are you really O.G. Cathleen?"

"I am", O.G. Cathleen confirmed, nodding her head up and down slowly, her lower lip jutting out yet again in her signature look.

"Oh my God! Wow, amazing, absolutely amazing! I have your first demo tape, Ms. O.G. Cathleen! I listen to it everyday, same with me mates! You're a legend around these here parts, the lyrics in your raps are so true and inspirational", the boy fawned, looking like he was going to either pop a blood vessel or shit his pants.

"Thanks", Cathleen stated, giving him a creeped out stare, "but we didn't order anything".

"Must be fan mail then", the boy stated rather obviously, "Oh, and before I go, can I get your autograph, or could you drop a rhyme or something?"

Cathleen gave an irritated sigh and spat out real quickly, "I was raised in this here ghetto street, I never got a plate of meat to eat, but that's ok, that's alright, I know that my future is going to be out of sight. So make way and let Cathleen through, or else I'm going to curb stomp your ass, you little shit!"

"Amazing", the little boy nearly orgasmed.

Cathleen sighed then signed the release papers and the boy wheeled over the huge package to the door. Once the boy left O.G. Cathleen called over her grandma and they observed the package.

"Not sure who it's from, no name on it", O.G. Cathleen stated, poking at the package, which for some reason was squishy. The parcel was tall, around 6 feet, and it weighed about as much as a baby whale; the two looked at it in awe.

"Open it, child!" demanded grandma.

O.G. Cathleen did just that and then the women both screamed when the brown paper slivered off and reveled Column's lifeless body slumped over and bloated on their cottage wall.

"Holy Tupac in the sky!" O.G. Cathleen swore.

"Who could have done this? Who could have killed Column?"

A note slipped out and Cathleen read it aloud, it supposedly was Column's suicide note.

"Oh, I never knew Column was so depressed", grandma shrugged and then went back to looking at her new hair in the mirror. But O.G. Cathleen wasn't so sure; this looked like a murder to her, and she of all people knew what a murder looked like.


	18. Voodoo, Bones & Daisies

**AN: Hello, hello again! Hope you're glad to see a new chapter posted, I've been trying to update more now since I have break, but I'm terribly lazy. Drop a review, you know you want to...and I know you readers are out there O.O**

Chapter 18: Voodoo, Bones & Daisies

Anne was sitting on the steps of her and Butthoarders' front porch, holding her aching belly. It had been 6 months since the second bun in her oven started to bake, but not without complications. Strange symptoms had been appearing lately. Fowl smelling urine, unusual colored bowel movements, shaky sweaty hands and the occasional streak of small horrid toots which enraged a very sick Anne Hampton Butthoarder. Rhett had taken her to see a doctor a week before, and the results showed nothing unusual or threatening to her or the baby's health, so taking matters into his own hands, Butthoarder, a firm believer in witchcraft, took Anne to a witchdoctor (thinking they're inevitably the same) to find out what all the fuss was about.

The witchdoctor wore heavy black and green robes, Jesus sandals and a necklace made of pigeon bones which Rhett took a liking too. The witchdoctor had yielded the signs of the baby being born with unnatural qualities and this scared Rhett shitless. Anne on the other hand didn't take any of the bullshit seriously and assured Rhett this was all smoke and mirrors and that some women naturally have complications with their pregnancies.

Rhett took this very seriously; he didn't want his child to be born with two heads, four arms and the body of a slug…so he decided to do something about this. Anne was rockin' out with her cock out to some fiddlin' that morning, man those 8 track tapes were cool, and that was the perfect timing for Butthoarder to sneak into the bathroom to set up his master plan trap, to cure Anne of her baby problem.

She has to sit down at some point, he thought, and the toilet would be perfect since he could afford one that flushed after all… it would be just like that show "I didn't know I was pregnant!" Yes perfect. He twiddled his thumbs sinisterly and laughed a maniacal hardy laugh until he slipped off into the kitchen to practice his card tricks to pass the time. Now he played the waiting game.

He waited a whole 2 days before she went, seeing as she was horribly constipated and often peed herself before making it to the bathroom. He heard a snap, crackle, POP! And he knew his plan had succeeded.

While Anne sat down on the toilet seat, she sat on a thin string snapping it, while this triggered a chain reaction setting off one of his collectable dolphin snow globes swinging into action straight for Anne's bulging belly, thus popping the baby out triggering another string at the bottom of the bowl flushing the pooper free of what appeared to be a two headed four armed slug body abomination in the pot. To top it all off, a pail filled with tar and used needles fell onto Anne's head sending the final painful blow of a cascading tray of feathers to stick onto a traumatized Anne.

Rhett burst into the door like a child from his room on Christmas, pointing and laughing at Anne who just sat in shock, now baby less and crying, in confusion and pain, waiting for an explanation.

"HAHAHAA! GOT YA!" Butthoarder exclaimed. His new pigeon bone necklace jingling around his neck.

* * *

><p>Scorlett and the O'Hara clan filed into the town's run down, old church for the funeral of father Column O'Hara…it was all they could afford, even though Scorlett was filthy rich. Scorlett looked around and was surprised to see just how many people had come…but then she saw the snack bar piled high with all the crap that Column loved and knew the real reason.<p>

"Figures", Scorlett muttered to herself, then saw that they had crab puffs and got excited. But she had to stifle it; it was time for that boring, old guy to start his boring, old guy speech about her boring, fatass cousin.

They all took their seats and the ceremony began. Four young children from his youth group hauled in Column's body and flopped it into the coffin waiting at the front on the church. Scorlett nearly cried at the idea of those children loving Coulmn enough to want to carry his bloated carcass to his funeral, and also at the fact of their naivety to what her cousin really was.

Grandma personally played the ancient, deep, vibrating organ as Column's body was brought in, and played little jigs that you would hear at an old silent film theatre during a Nosferatu flick.

Once the old man's boring speech was over everyone got up out of their seat and flocked to the snack bar. They all completely ignored Column's lifeless body, waiting at the front of the church for his goodbyes that would never come from his so called friends. Mrs. Fitz did not attend.

Once Scorlett's face was stuffed with about five crab puffs, she felt a hand on her shoulder with a familiar squeeze. She looked up and saw Lord Fenton standing beside her, his lips curled in disgust at her obviously gluttonous appearance.

"Why, Richard-"

"It's Lord Fenton in public, hoe", he hissed.

"Why, Lord Fenton, whatever are you doing here?"

"One of my whores cancelled…I mean, uh, I couldn't wait to see you".

Scorlett ignored his flub and continued to chew her crab puffs greedily.

"I can't right now, if you haven't noticed I'm at a funeral for my cousin and the snack bar isn't nearly finished yet, so people will be sticking around for at least another twenty minutes or so", she explained, nodding to Column's ignored body.

"Hmmm", Fenton hmmed.

The boring, old guy who gave the boring, old guy speech cleared his throat and announced that they would now be officially burying the body if anyone cared to join.

"Anyone? Anyone? Oh, ok…I'll do it. Just leave me some Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies when I get back or else I swear to God that I'll ask him to smite you all down!" He cried and then hauled Column's swollen body out himself.

A few minutes later the man came back in and went straight to the snack bar with the other guests.

Lord Fenton led Scorlett outside; she had since eaten all the crab puffs and had no objection for a little romp in the graveyard. He peeked around the stone graves and then settled for one that seemed to be dug but was still empty.

"Ready to jump some of these old folks' bones", he laughed, waggling his eyebrow at her.

"Why, Mr. Fenton, you know I always am! But did you bring the whip?"

"You know I did", he purred and then threw her into the grave. Scorlett hit the soft mud but then felt something else underneath her. She turned her head and saw Column's swollen double chin staring her straight in the eyes. Scorlett gave a scream and Lord Fenton stopped in his tracks right before he was about to jump down in with her.

"Lord Fenton, help me up! GOOD GOD HELP ME UP!"

Lord Fenton peered down the grave and saw Column's fat carcass underneath staring up at him…almost with a triumphant gleam in his dead eyes. With that The Fenton turned on his heels and left a screaming Scorlett down in the grave with her cousin.

* * *

><p>Ashley Wilkes had always been a charming sweet man, and after the death of his beloved wife, Melanie, his world crashed down around him like the waves of booze that once soaked his shirt. It had been a year since he got sober, AA meetings fueled his fire to become his old self again, and this also encouraged him to meet singles that have been through tough times and prevailed. He kept off the sauce while only brought him closer to meeting slutty one night stands rather than a hardy natural EXPIERIENCED woman, much like Mrs. Butthoarder.<p>

While in the library one day, Ashley sauntered on over to the community bulletin board, which was most often used for self advertising and social season's gossip columns. He sifted through sad middle aged men's ads for a young hot piece on the streets of Charleston.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen," he muttered and smirked.

"32 year old male searching for mature energetic woman-Oh woops that's miinee," he said nervously as he snatched it off the board, shoving it into his breast pocket. Continuing to scan the board he found numerous women, all undoubtedly the same.

Name: Delores Pinkerton

Age: 38

Seeking: Male/ someone who enjoys reading, steak, long walks on the beach, romance novels and my 12 young children..

"WOAHH we'll stop there," Ashley said outloud.

On to the next one:

Name: Joan Carlisledizzle

Age: 29

Seeking: Male/ I love a man that has a huge imagination. Someone that can get dirty and make all my fantasies come true, someone that will sing me Italian…"

"That's enough of that, I ain't no hoes booty call," Ashley spat.

He sighed a heavy sigh, the kind that takes all the bam out of Emerils cooking, and when he slapped the ad for Joan aside, an off white flower embroidered note hung graciously in his presence, the final ad that would change his heart for good.

Name: Eleanor Butthoarder.

This time he was excited, they already seemed to have so much in common. From a son to even the old booze hound habits they dropped.

He ironed his new suit put on his blue suede shoes and did a little dance, because tonight he was gonna meet the woman of his dreams. With hair curled all the right ways, he put on a little aftershave, plucked a little daisy from his bouquet for Eleanor for his suit, and gave himself a wink and a shimmy shake booty dance in the mirror and off he went. How could anyone turn down such a sex kitten?


	19. Moleman, The Wench, and Investigation

**AN: Hey guys, long time no see! Yes, I am back! I actually got off my lazy butt and decided to upload another chapter in this beautiful fanfiction. Enjoy, and leave me stuff! **

Chapter 19: Date with Moleman, The Wench, and Investigation 

When Rhett Butthoarder and Mustache saw their mother come down the staircase dressed as a common, Scorlett-look-alike whore to answer the door, they knew something was up. Especially since Eleanor hadn't gone on a date since her husband, his father, was first courting her. He could tell by the way she was giggling before she saw him and swooshing her skirts that his mother had yet again put in a singles ad on the community bulletin board. She was a repeat offender.

"Damn mother, she's not twenty anymore, the senile, old hag", Rhett muttered to himself as she flew down the stairs to get to the door first, and he was too quick for his mother.

You could have knocked down Butthoarder with a feather when he saw who was at the door. Ashley Moleman Wilkes, the cause of his failed marriage and the ultimate reason for the downfall in his swinging bachelor's lifestyle.

He was standing there and looked dumbfounded when he saw Rhett. Rhett and Mustache observed his dandy outfit, the daisy in his suit's pocket, the way _his_ ridiculous mustache shone dirty blonde in the light, and those stupid curls on his head. Rhett wanted to punch him in the face, but he felt Eleanor's gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Rhett, this is Ashley Wilkes", she introduced, "We've been talking through letters and finally decided to meet up for just a few hours. Please, dear, go to bed and let Mommy go out with her friend", she pleaded, while still smiling at Ashley.

"Mother, do you even know who this man is?"

"Ru Re RIS!" Mustache repeated.

Ashley looked a little thrown off by Rhett's talking Mustache, but didn't want to offend Eleanor so he stifled his grin. Mustache shot him a deadly look.

"Yes, he's Ashley Wilkes, a nice man who has a lot in common with me, and we're going out and there's nothing you can say about it. Now, Rhett, I'm the parent and taxpayer in this house so let Mamma go out with her friend and have a good time", her voice was hard for the first time in a long while. "But don't worry", her voice was gentle again, "Mommy didn't forget to put out your lemon cookies…and don't worry they won't do a number on your tum-tum".

Rhett's mouth dropped open and he glared at Ashley, who simply stuck his tongue out at him while Eleanor was giving Rhett her senile, old smile.

"Fine, go out…I'm not your father".

Eleanor gave Rhett and hug and a peck on the check then took Ashley's arm and they walked off down the path from their house to Ashley's carriage.

"Mustache, I hope you didn't make any plans tonight, because we're going out".

"Ro, raber rhy?"

"Why? Because we're going to watch that cockblocking dickhole and just what he plans on doing with my mother".

* * *

><p>Lord Fenton was pacing his castle halls, twirling his pimp cane nervously waiting, waiting, waiting for his mistress to arrive. Scorlett had been putting him on the backburner recently after The Fitz's little interruption on their freaky Friday.<p>

He had hoped he'd get laid after the funeral because everyone seems to be in the mood after such a thing for some reason, but she was royally pissed from how he left her in Column's grave, so he didn't expect too much; but nothing? Really, nothing at all? Lord Fenton you must understand, has not gone without sex since he was 14 years old. This delves deep into his psyche' but we'll talk about that at a later time.

"C'mon, where in Satan's bedroom could she be?" He checked the clock, now 17 minutes late.

"I'm gonna flay her raw, in more ways then one tonight" He sneered.

Then came a knock at the door, and he bolted over to receive his little whore this evening.

"Mary, where have you been? You're late, now get in here and get undressed." He pulled a shaking young woman in through the door. She wore a brown jagged worn dress, with a grill to match. I mean these teeth could open a can of tuna. Besides her jacked up mouth, her small dark brown eyes gleamed wide and scared all the time, like that of a deer in headlights. She shuffled in nervously and greeted him with a quick nod while her beady eyes darted from place to place.

"Get over here, follow me, and hurry it up, I havn't had the king take a dip in the lady pool for about 4 days and I can't wait any longer!" Fenton snapped as he slapped Mary in the ass with his diamond encrusted pimp stick.

The Fenton met Mary at Columns funeral, she wasn't the prettiest thing but he had heard from the paddys he used to torture, that she would do anything for a shilling or two. She was the old crooked priest's niece and bangin' her tonight would bring immense twisted pleasure to the Earl.

She scurried up the stairs and he navigated her into his large bedchamber. He drank a bottle of wine to loosen up just enough to fuck the brains out of this common, yet extremely unappealing, Irish wench.

Taking a drag or two off his opium pipe he ordered the drooling whore to get undressed as he pulled out the ole' Karma Sutra. Flipping through the pages until he arrived on one he hadn't tried, since high school. Simple, yet saucy he thought to himself, this will do until I drink more he decided. He showed Mary.

"My god that's disgustin', take it away!" She sprayed. Literally, this woman soaked the poor faces of unsuspecting victims who didn't know how bad her saliva problem was. She drooled as well, a bit of a problem for anyone willing to be seen with her in public.

Lord Fenton gave a smirk and wiped the spit off his face.

"Well the varied missionary position shouldn't be too hard on my back this evening, the hump back whale I did on that other bitch of mine threw it out to high hell." He slurred a little.

"You mean to tell me to open my legs just a bit wider! You're sick!" Mary said with a little spittle dripping from her mouth.

"GET, NAKED." Fenton now demanded, and when she started to undress he lowered his cane, and having just barely drunk enough to fuck, got it on, till the break of dawn.

* * *

><p>It was midnight and O.G. Cathleen was still up and working hard. Mildly rocking out to her "Coolio's Greatest Hits" CD she had been up for hours studying Column's supposed suicide note. It just didn't make sense to her, being she was the only one in this land that had any; she couldn't see why Column would end his life.<p>

"Dear friends and family,

I decided to kill myself because **I'm fat and ugly…"**

Surely Column hated his physical appearance, but he had made progress with it as well. He was still chubby, but he had been able to loose weight, and he had been able to curb some of his food and children addictions. It just didn't add up.

O.G. Cathleen then popped in her mix CD and continued her examination of the note.

"I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one, if you're having girl problems I feel bad for you, son. I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one, hit me" O.G. Cathleen whispered to herself, bobbing her head with the beat.

"…and Lord Fentons **awesome."**

Who was Lord Fenton? Cathleen thought. She had never heard of him before, but something about Column saying that just seemed…off to her. Perhaps he had killed Column or perhaps he was somehow related to the person who _had_ killed Column. She would obviously need to do some investigating into the name of Lord Fenton.

"Back up in yo ass with the resurrection! Is the group harder than an erection that shows more affection. They wanna ban us on Capitol Hill, cause it's die, motherfuckers, die motherfuckers, yeeaaahhh!" she droned, tapping her pencil on her diamond encrusted PIMP cup.

"Don't bother burying me, **just throw me in a ditch somewhere**, or whatever".

"Column would never wanna go out the gangsta way, he was never that G", O.G. Cathleen stated to herself, "he was more of a pussy than anything else".

And finally she came to the last piece of evidence…Column's name. She observed it closely and came to the conclusion that it wasn't his regular signature. It was way too fancy looking, almost as if a well educated and rich person had wrote it. Very suspicious, very suspicious.

"Cash rules everything around me, C.R.E.A.M., get the money, dolla dolla bills, y'aallll".

Cathleen took off her old, ghetto headphones and put the letter away in her desk. She figured she should go to bed now, she'd investigate that Fenton fellow later.


	20. The New Trollip & The Herpz

**AN: Hey guys, long time no see! ;D Are any of you still there? Sorry for not updating :3 I still have a few pages of this story left to put up so I might as well keep updating for a bit then, not really sure if it will have an actual ending since my friend and I haven't written in this in forever and a half. Maybe I can smack a weird ending on if it comes to that. The editing is a bit shitty, but I did it in a few minutes and I'm extremely lazy when it comes to editing this story ;p Anyway please enjoy and leave us some feedback if you have any!**

Chapter 20: The New Trollop & The Herpz

While O.G. Cathleen's investigation continued, Scorlett had received wonderful news from Charleston, it appeared that Anne had another miscarriage, and the baby was an abomination as well, "oh thank sweet baby Jesus" Scorlett thought. Sally and Scorlett had been writing back and fourth for some time now, she included the notes about the south she missed so much. Just like how Anne's miscarriage was basically done by Butthoarder's own hand, how Eleanor had gone on her first date in over 40 years with some mysterious sex kitten, the gossip on the outburst of yellow fever and herpes going around town, and how sausage prices have been sky high- an obvious blow to Eleanor-which pleased Scorlett.

Scorlett gave a devilish smile and continued reading the letter firmly held in her creepily, manicured hands. Sally's letter was perfectly informative and she couldn't help but snicker at all those retards that were stuck back in the dirty, old South. The letter went on to say how Sally couldn't wait to see who Eleanor's new bf would be and also that Rhett seemed to have some sort of beef with him. Scorlett couldn't guess who the hell her new lover would be, but she assumed he had horrible taste in women. She finished the letter and got up, going over to the table to get some freshly ground coffee that she had forced Mary to make her the previous night. If that trollop thought she could sneak into her house and live in her basement and not do jack shit, then she had another thing coming to her.

* * *

><p>Mary was a scared little trolip, fueled only by the thought of getting out of Ireland after collecting so many shillings from her 'body buisness', if you know what I'm sayin'. After meeting Lord Fenton at her uncle Column's funeral, her spirits were empty, as empty as her pockets. She hadn't been in business in months after the sudden mysterious deaths of many of her haggard Irish clients; and now was her opportunity was presenting itself at such a horrid yet erotic time. The Fenton was across the way, eyeing her prominent bosom as he shoveled dumplings from the buffet onto his plate. Mary had just fluffed her boorish brown rug across her shoulders and flashed a coy, brief smile his way.<p>

After a few glances back and fourth The Fenton casually slipped Mary a note up her skirts (being that he's such a professional, no one noticed) and at the end of service all the while Scorlett was trying to claw her way out of Column's grave, Mary better known as 'Saw Tooth' met Fenton in the alley behind the mule stables. The had a quick grope fest before presenting her with a couple shillings to get things started, when the town's mule trainer walked 'in' on them. They planned to meet at his royal castle as Scorlett was showing no signs of putting out after being shoved into a dead cousin's grave.

* * *

><p>Lord Fenton paced his bedroom; a new whore always put him on the edge for some reason, perhaps the thrill of a new catch. Either way he couldn't wait for some new, fresh, Irish, peasant poon, that was his favorite, and when the servant brought up "The Saw" to him, he sprang and slammed her against the wall.<p>

Mary gave a squeal, she wasn't used to such rough handling, as Lord Fenton slithered his hand up her leg, ripping and tearing at her clothes as he went.

"Ohhh!" he exclaimed with a waggle of the brow, pleasantly surprised at how calm Mary seemed to be, almost as if she was used to this sort of thing.

"Please, sir", she spat, her eyes squinting, "I have another appointment in an hour, be careful".

Lord Fenton gave a roaring laugh and threw her on his bed; spit flying as she flew across the room and landed with a thump on his tiger skin sheets. He skipped over to his closet to rustle threw his drawers, looking for a specific article of clothing.

"You came very highly recommended from a lot of Patties, Mary, my slut; you must turn some mean tricks".

"It's a living", Mary shrugged, hiking her skirt up casually, obviously used to this scenario.

"No, take it off and put this on", he threw her a black spandex leather suit. Mary held it up and then slipped it on as Lord Fenton stuck a gag in his mouth and slapped a leather banana hammock on.

He turned around and saw Mary in the catwoman suit he had bought from his last visit to New York. She looked perfectly adequate in it. She drew on some kitty whiskers with black coal and placed one of her hands in a paw like position, giving him a toothy grin…which wasn't so pretty. Still he wanted her, despite those nasty, rotting chompers of hers.

He took out his gag for a moment and purred, "Meow", before jumping on her, much like a cat himself. After that night Mary never went back to her other clients, they just weren't the same.

* * *

><p>Scorlett was trimming the bush at Ballyhara, when she heard a knock at the door and quickly threw the lady razor in her bathroom trash and headed downstairs in a hurry, her skirt still jammed indiscreetly in her pantalets. She hastily fixed her hair and opened the massive door to receive yet another letter, but not from Sally, this was from a poorly scribbled Will Bentene, and what she read next made her eyes widen and jaw drop.<p>

'Deer Scolet, thers been a sudden outbreak of yellow fevR and hurpees lately and Sue Ellen has come down with a bad case of iLl. My darlin Suey has been throwin up and swetting lots. i am realy scured that she will die without yor tender lovin and care.. and munny. I am askin you if yu could pleese come see yur sister, if she cant get better soon. 8(

-sinceerly WiLl'

Scorlett's eyes bugged nearly out of her skull and she clenched her heart as the letter fell to the floor. Thoughts of Sue Ellen dieing, and with most of Tara in her possession!? Not on her watch, she decided right then and there that she needed to depart to America as soon as possible, and all her money would surely save her dieing redheaded sister, which in turn would grant her full custody of their baby, Tara. Now all she had to do was pack her hideous embellished clothing, throw the baby a few scraps in the walls, and tell Lord Fenton of her quick departure.

Little did she know that he would have such an extreme decision to make after the absence of booty.


End file.
